For This Love
by mille libri
Summary: Bates and Anna couldn't have known where that first handshake would lead them: short vignettes covering on- and off-screen scenes in their romance.
1. What She Wanted

_I'm late on the Downton bandwagon, but I find Bates and Anna's relationship captivating. This will be brief scenes in the course of their relationship, chronologically - some on-screen, some off-screen. I happily take requests; if there's any moment between them you'd like to see, let me know, and I'll see if I can tackle it. Reviews are always appreciated, constructive criticism welcome (especially when it comes to British spelling and idioms, which I'm trying to stick to, but as an American find myself constantly forgetting). Thanks for reading!_

* * *

_April 1912_

Anna Smith had always known what she wanted. She had gone into service as soon as she was old enough, working her way steadily upward to reach her current place. Being head housemaid in a house like Downton Abbey was a big achievement, and she was more than satisfied with it, for now. As a young girl about the age of Daisy, Downton's kitchen maid, she'd been pinched often enough on the servants' stairs by impudent footmen to put dreams of that nature aside indefinitely. Over time, she had developed an image in her mind of the man she would want, and then she'd put it away in a corner of her heart to wait until such a man appeared.

Sometimes, on nights when she had trouble sleeping, she would lie in the dark listening to the light breathing of Gwen, the second housemaid, and she would take that image out and go over it. He would have to be an honourable man, honest and forthright. A man of intelligence, with warmth and humour and an interest in learning. A gentle man, but strong enough to stand beside her come what may. Looks weren't that important to her—most of the remarkably attractive men she'd met hid far less attractive things under their bright surfaces—but she wanted a big man, someone she had to look up to, someone into whose embrace she could disappear. Anna might have been as much a stranger to the physical side of love as she was to the emotional, but she had a healthy imagination.

Her mother's practical daughter was well aware that such a man probably existed only in her mind, and that surely she would not find him in service. So Anna didn't look for him in the men she met; she assumed he wouldn't be there. But she also had a strong romantic streak, and she believed in hoping for the best. When he appeared, she would be ready.

These thoughts were far from her mind the terrible morning of the _Titanic_'s sinking, when she walked down the servants' stairs to find a man standing in the hall. He was a tall man, dark-haired, leaning on a cane. O'Brien, the ladies maid, accosted him, as was her way.

"I've been waiting at the back door," he said. "I knocked, but no one came."

"So you pushed in," O'Brien said.

"I'm John Bates, the valet."

"The new valet." O'Brien looked pointedly at his cane, but said only, "You're early."

"Came on the milk train; thought I'd use the day to get to know the place, and start tonight."

When O'Brien gave no response to his remark, Anna thought it was about time someone stepped in who wouldn't make this Mr. Bates feel that he'd arrived in the Arctic Circle.

She shifted the bundles in her arms, holding her hand out. "I'm Anna, the head housemaid."

Her small hand practically disappeared in his larger one. "How do you do."

"And I'm Miss O'Brien, Her Ladyship's maid." O'Brien hadn't moved, standing forbiddingly in front of him. Anna couldn't help but wonder what was under O'Brien's bonnet—what was it to her if there was a new valet? Of course, she was think with Thomas, the first footman, and Thomas had been hoping for the valet's job himself. But he wasn't going to get it; Anna could have told them both that. Mr. Bates waited politely, not rushing her or giving any indication he felt her incredible rudeness. Anna liked that about him, right off. Finally, O'Brien said, "Well, you'd better come along with us, then."

He bent to pick up his valise as O'Brien walked off. As he straightened, Mr. Bates's eyes met Anna's, and she couldn't help smiling at him. She liked the smile she got in return—it was polite and not effusive, but there was a hint of humour to it. She hurried off after O'Brien and Gwen, conscious of Mr. Bates's heavy steps following her lighter ones.

In the kitchen, faced with the doubts, both spoken and unspoken, of the butler and housekeeper, he refused to be ruffled, simply repeating, calmly, "I can manage."

Where was their hospitality? Anna thought. It was the coldest reception she could ever remember of a new servant, so at his fourth or fifth repetition of "I can manage," she said, "Of course you can."

He looked at her over his shoulder with surprise, and a small smile as if to thank her for the support, and she liked him a little more for accepting the caution and dismay of those who ran the house with such self-possession.

As they sat at luncheon that day, with Mr. Carson assuring Mr. Bates that he needn't be uncomfortable in the presence of his lordship, the Earl of Grantham himself came into the room, apologizing to all of them for disturbing their luncheon. There was a happy eagerness in his face when he came around the table to greet Mr. Bates, who he introduced to them all as an old comrade from the war. As His Lordship left the room, there was total silence from all the servants, until Mr. Bates looked at all of them with that same small smile, shrugged a little, and said, "You never asked."

That was when Anna was sure they were going to be friends—not only was he a man who had earned the esteem of Lord Grantham, he was a man who could find humour in a situation a lesser man might have taken offence at. She picked up her fork, feeling an awareness of the man sitting next to her that she had never felt before. And deep inside her heart, something that had been waiting, tensely, relaxed.


	2. The Kindest Thing

_Thank you for the enthusiastic response to the first chapter!_

* * *

_April 1912_

Anna would be very sad to see Mr. Bates leave. He had seemed so determined to make a go of it at Downton; he'd tried so hard to do his job well, even in the face of Thomas and O'Brien tripping him up. Anna had liked him more every time she saw him.

Knowing he was leaving made her feel as though a cloud had just blocked out the sun. Foolish, possibly, but there you had it. At least she could try to do some little thing for him. Make him a tray, since he was too embarrassed to come down and meet them all for dinner. Show him that someone at Downton was sorry.

Anna took care with the tray, wanting it to look nice but not too fussy. It was clear he wasn't a fussy man. She liked that about him. He was plain, simple, like she was.

The silent walk had been drilled into her as soon as she started in service. "A good servant never lets her footsteps disturb the family." So it was no surprise that Mr. Bates didn't hear her coming. And when she saw that he was weeping—tears that made it look like this was his last chance, and he had nowhere else to go—her heart ached. She wanted to put her arms around him, not meaning anything by it, just comfort. But if she tried anything of the sort, she was sure he'd snap at her, just as he had when she had helped him up earlier. Anna could understand; she'd want to go it on her own, as well, with no one to feel sorry for her.

So she did the kindest thing she could think of. She backed up a few steps and called his name, then waited until he opened the door fully so he could have time to compose himself.

"I brought something up, in case you were hungry."

"That's very kind of you." He hung his cane over his arm and took the tray, and all the while Anna stood there, frozen, unable to think of a thing to say. And she wanted to say something, anything, that might make a difference. If only she could.

He put the tray down inside his room and looked at her expectantly, as though wondering what she was still doing there.

"I'm ever so sorry you're going," she said.

"I'll be all right."

"Of course you will." She paused, then added impulsively, "There's always a place for a man like you."

"Oh, yes." He took the remark as a sop, to judge by the twist of his lips. "Something will turn up."

Then Anna knew. When he tried to put a brave face on it, when she had no further excuse to talk to him, when it was the last thing she was going to get to say to him. She knew she couldn't let him go without at least trying to find a way to hear from him again. "Tell us … when you're fixed. Just … drop us a line." Her throat felt tight, but she refused to cry. He'd think her silly, for sure. "Else I'll worry." She smiled.

"Well, we can't have that." Was she imagining things, or was there an acknowledgement of a missed opportunity in his answering smile? She must have been, because as she kept bravely smiling, he stepped back and closed the door on her.

Anna turned and walked down the hall, glad there was no one there to see her shoulders slump or to hear the sniffle she couldn't hold back.


	3. Smile

_Thanks for reading! _

* * *

_April 1912_

They were all at breakfast when Mr. Bates came in, his cane thumping the floor, and calmly took his seat in the startled silence.

"Mr. Bates!" Mr. Carson exclaimed. "You're still here."

"His lordship asked me to stay."

Anna bit the inside of her cheek to keep hold of the smile that wanted to spread across her face. Mr. Bates didn't look at her, or he might have seen the happiness in her eyes. No matter. He would stay, and there would be time.

She wanted to say something to him, but she felt shy about it. Instead she ate her breakfast, and did her work about the house, all the while wondering if there was something she could do, a little token, that would say she was glad he had stayed.

* * *

Bates was relieved to close his door behind him that night; relieved that it still was his door. He had been very surprised when Lord Grantham had stopped the car and asked—told—him to stay. Surprised, and relieved enough that it hadn't mattered that none of the other servants had seemed pleased to see him at breakfast. Even Anna had simply stared at him wide-eyed and then gone back to her porridge. He didn't know what he had expected, but he had hoped that they were developing a friendship. She had been supportive of him from the start—maybe he hadn't been appreciative enough of that support.

He sighed, leaning back against the door and closing his eyes. It had been a long day and his leg was beginning to ache. He would get used to the stairs, in time. The other servants would get used to him, in time, or so he hoped. Well, the first footman, Thomas, wouldn't, not anytime soon. He'd had his eye on the valet's job, that was clear, and his nose would surely stay out of joint for a while yet. But that was a small problem, all things considered. If Bates could continue to please his lordship and could win Mr. Carson over, his place would be secure and he would never again need to be in such dire straits as those he'd been through before he came to Downton.

He sank down on the bed, stretching out his leg, but biting back the groan that came to his lips. Even in private, such self-indulgence was a bad idea. The less attention he called to his injury, the better. Still, it felt good to be off of it. He shrugged his coat off his shoulders, picking it up to fold it carefully. He would hang it up as soon as he'd rested a moment.

As he laid it aside, Bates caught sight of something colorful sticking out of his right-hand pocket. He hadn't put anything there. Frowning, he reached in, wondering if Thomas had left him something offensive while he wasn't paying attention.

But it was far from offensive. It was a bookmark, embroidered with a pattern of bright yellow tulips. He could guess where it came from. She must have slipped it into his pocket during dinner. Apparently she had quick hands, that one. The motif, while a bit fanciful for his taste, seemed highly appropriate—Anna reminded him of a tulip, cheerful and fresh and pretty. This must have been hers, as there wouldn't have been time for her to make a new one today. Bates appreciated the gesture more than he could say. It meant a lot to know that someone was pleased to see him stay, pleased enough to want to mark the occasion with a gift of friendship. It occurred to him briefly that it might be an overture to something more than friendship. He firmly squashed the immediate leap of his pulse. Anna was a lovely girl, but he was no man for her, or any woman.

Still. He studied the bookmark, then reached for his book, a copy of _The Hound of the Baskervilles_ he had bought from a used bookseller. It was a worn old volume, and the flowers looked particularly cheerful against it. The contrast made him smile, and John Bates hadn't had much to smile about in a long time.

* * *

The next evening there was a brief time of quiet at the end of the night, seated in the servants' hall, and he took out his book, opening it to display the bookmark before he started to read. Anna was darning a sock next to him, and out of the corner of his eye he saw her glance at him and smile. He lifted the book just a little, in a subtle salute to thank her, and she dipped her head in response.

The fact that the whole byplay appeared to have gone unnoticed by Thomas and his crony O'Brien was an extra victory.


	4. Lucky to Be Here

_Thanks for reading and reviewing!  
_

* * *

_July 1912_

By the time Mr. Bates had been at Downton for a couple of months, it was more or less established that Anna would hang back and walk home from church with him on Sundays. Occasionally Mrs. Hughes would walk with him, but the housekeeper was generally in too much of a hurry to accommodate Mr. Bates' slow pace.

The day was overcast, with occasional sprinkles of rain. Everyone else had hastened ahead, to get back to Downton to hot cups of tea hastily gulped down before the family needed them. Anna wasn't in any rush, however. It was her favorite part of the week, and a little rain couldn't hurt.

"You know, you don't have to wait for me," Mr. Bates said. "You should hurry up and go get dry."

"It's only a bit drizzly. I like it—it's refreshing. We don't get out in the rain and weather much."

"No, I don't suppose we do." He glanced up at the sky. "It'll be more than drizzly soon, unless I miss my guess."

With an arch look, Anna asked, "So you predict the weather, now, Mr. Bates?"

He smiled. "I can count storm clouds."

"That's just taking the easy way out," she scoffed, grinning.

Chuckling, Mr. Bates shook his head. "I am sorry to disappoint you, then."

"You haven't so far."

He looked at her sharply, then back up at the clouds. "I hope his lordship can say the same."

"I would think so. Lady Mary says he looks much better turned out than when Watson was here."

"Does she?" Mr. Bates frowned. "I suppose there's a lot of gossip in a big house like this one."

"It's difficult to do someone's hair without talking to them, and what else do we have in common with the young ladies?" Anna shrugged. "No one means any harm by it. Well, except O'Brien. You want to be careful there—Lady Grantham listens to O'Brien."

"Yes, so I've gathered. Thank you for the warning."

"I wouldn't want to see you get into any sort of trouble."

"That's kind of you."

It wasn't, not at all. It was selfish. She liked talking to him; she liked walking with him; she liked sitting next to him at table, their arms brushing sometimes. She liked his occasional smiles and his eloquent eyes. In the short time they'd known each other she'd learned that while he could school his face to show little to nothing of what he felt, he didn't have quite the same control over his eyes. It was the only drawback to walking next to him; it was much harder to see his eyes this way. "Mr. Bates, do you like it here at Downton?"

"I'm very lucky to be here."

"That's not what I asked you."

"No, I suppose it isn't, is it." He tilted his head, giving her that curiously intense look of his. "I do like it here, Anna, very much. Thank you for asking."

"Good. I'm glad."

At that the heavens opened up, his storm clouds finally reaching them. Despite the rain dripping off the rims of their hats, they were both perfectly content.


	5. Developing

_Thanks to all of you for reading! Special thanks to FanofGoodTV for convincing me to buy the script book (what a goldmine that is!) and pointing me toward the deleted scenes. The chapter list just got longer! Also, a quick note on their ages. I can't find anything that gives me exact numbers, so I'm assuming that Anna, as head housemaid, must be 22 or 23, and Bates is roughly 20 years older._

* * *

_September 1912_

Bates was startled to walk into the servants' hall and find only Anna sitting there, polishing a shoe. Usually the hall was bustling, filled with people, and he could sit next to Anna and enjoy her company while still blending into the rest of the servants' lively chatter. The weeks he had been at Downton had been busy ones, and overall happy ones, and the small, neat woman at the table was a large part of the reason for that. But she also gave strong indications of developing an interest in him beyond friendship, and while Bates was flattered—who wouldn't be, at the attention of a woman like that?—it was not a situation he could allow to grow.

"Where is everyone?" Possibly some of his dismay had bled into his voice.

Or possibly Anna was nervous to be alone with him. She seemed it, as she answered. "They've all gone down to the village. Some traveling salesman set up at the pub for the afternoon."

In a clumsy attempt to break the tension, he said, "Alone at last," and regretted the words the moment they were out of his mouth, because Anna blushed a little, and smiled a little, and gratifying as both of those were, he simply couldn't go down that road. "We shouldn't be without both footmen," he went on more briskly, sitting down and beginning to spread out the newspaper and jacket he had brought in. "Does Mr. Carson know?"

"Mrs. Hughes does. She's gone with them. They won't be long."

There was silence between them. Uncomfortable silence, which was unlike what he was used to in her presence. "So … you see to the girls and you're supposed to be head housemaid. You should put in for a raise."

She gave him her arch look. He liked that look—it brightened up her whole face. "What do you mean, 'supposed to be'?" She laughed, and Bates was relieved to find the tension had shifted. He was just settling in to enjoy this rare interlude of friendly companionship when the bell rang.

* * *

Just as well, he thought as he moved through the house toward the front door. Too much time alone with Anna could be a dangerous thing. She wasn't the only one who appeared to be developing an interest that went beyond friendship.

Later that afternoon, after the surprising revelation that the solemn, dignified Mr. Carson had once been on the halls as a performer, Bates and Anna walked down the stairs together. She matched her steps to his with no indication that his halting pace was slowing her usually quick steps.

"Poor Mr. Carson," she said. "We'll have to treat him like a god for a month, just to calm his nerves."

"He'll be afraid this will change the way we think of him," Bates said.

Anna broke in, "Then we mustn't let it."

"Oh, but it will. 'The Cheerful Charlies'?" They both broke into uncontrolled giggles. Bates couldn't remember the last time he had shared a genuine laugh with someone. "For all his talk of dignity, we know his story now."

"And admire him more because of it," Anna said stoutly.

"Maybe." Sobering, Bates repeated, "But it will change the way we think of him. It always does."

"I don't see why. I wouldn't care what I found out about you. Whatever it was, it wouldn't alter my opinion one bit."

Bates froze. How young she was. He rarely found the difference in their ages to be notable, or even worth remembering, but she knew so little of the wider world. She couldn't imagine the things he had done. "But it would," he said, softly but decisively. "It certainly would." He turned away from her before she could say anything, because, judging by the stiffness in her stance and the stubborn set to her lips, she hadn't been convinced, and he had no desire to pursue the conversation any further.

It occurred to him that if he told her, it would be one way to see to it that she quashed this interest in him that she seemed to be developing, but he found he couldn't bear the thought, even if it would be for the best. Despite all his efforts to the contrary, this smart, funny, strong little woman had managed to make herself very important to him in the short time they'd known each other.


	6. Foolish Vanity

_True confession: If I was ever going to write a Downton AU, it would be Bates/Hughes. I think they'd make a lovely couple, if he wasn't already so taken. My thanks to everyone who's been reading - I very much appreciate your time! Going forward, updates should be more regular - Sundays and Thursdays, with occasional Tuesdays if I can keep my buffer up. _

* * *

_March 1913_

God, his leg hurt. Bates paused in the hallway, putting his hand out to steady himself against a convenient table. Was it really worth this nightmare, the pain even sharper and more constant than usual? There was no indication that the brace was working, for all of that. He gritted his teeth, trying to work up the nerve to put his weight back on it, and cursed his foolish vanity. What had he hoped for? That somehow he could go to a quack and resolve in a few weeks an issue that had been plaguing him on and off for years? And why—to impress Anna? To shut Thomas up? To finally prove to Lord Grantham that he could handle the job?

Shifting the leg, he felt a trickle of blood run out from under the brace, and grimaced at himself. When those cuts got infected and the leg had to be cut off from gangrene, who would be impressed then?

Gingerly, he tried to put his weight on it, and tried to bite back the cry that came with the movement. It came out as a groan, however, and as luck would have it, Mrs. Hughes came by just as he was trying to shift the brace's position and ease some of the pain.

"Mr. Bates, I am going to have to insist that you tell me what is the matter."

With all his will, he managed to stand straight without allowing the pain utterance. "I thought it was for Mr. Carson to give me orders." He tried for a smile, but from Mrs. Hughes' expression, he had missed.

"Mr. Carson's no better than any other man when it comes to illness. Now tell me what it is and I'll see what I can do."

"It's nothing. Truly. I twisted my bad leg and walked on it too soon. I'll be fine in a day or two."

She frowned at him. "Well, if it isn't, I'm sending for the doctor." To Bates's dismay, Anna appeared next to the housekeeper. Mrs. Hughes handed her some things she'd been carrying. "You left these behind in the Blue Room, when you were dressing Lady Mary for the kill."

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Hughes." Anna looked up at Bates, and she, too, frowned. "Are you all right?"

"He is not all right and he will not tell me why."

There was something amusing about the situation—these two small women wearing identically threatening expressions of frustration and concern, holding him at bay. Bates chuckled. "A man's got to have some secrets."

Anna's eyebrows lifted. "But he can have too many."

It was a well-aimed shot, straight and true, and it hit too close for comfort. Bates cleared his throat. "Excuse me." And he walked past them, refusing to give voice to the excruciating pain.

* * *

By the time Bates was dressing Lord Grantham the next morning, only his last shreds of pride were keeping him on his feet.

His lordship was distracted by the affair of the Turk as he held out his arm for Bates to fasten his cufflinks. "Of all the men on earth—I mean, he looked so fit. Dr. Clarkson said it was a heart attack. Did you see any signs?"

"I didn't have much of a chance to study the gentleman." Anna had, though, Bates thought sourly. She'd been open in her admiration of the Turk's beauty. The stab of jealousy was a momentary distraction from the pain that came when he reached for his lordship's coat … but only momentary.

"You don't suppose there was something sinister in it? Every day the papers warn us of German spies, and they did say his presence was essential for peace in Albania."

German spies at Downton? Hardly likely. "I doubt it, m'lord," he said mildly. "Anyone wanting to poison his food would have to get past Mrs. Patmore."

"Blimey, that's a thought. Unless, of course, she's a spy herself." Lord Grantham chuckled and turned to Bates for an answering smile, which he didn't get. Bates had moved his leg and the resulting stab of pain had taken his breath away.

The effort of standing there was almost too much; Bates could feel tears welling behind his eyes from the agony, and now Lord Grantham could see them, too, it appeared.

"I wish you'd tell me what's wrong, Bates. You'll be in no trouble—I only want to help."

With some difficulty, Bates managed to speak normally. "I know that, your lordship, and I am grateful. Truly. But there is nothing I need help with."

Lord Grantham clearly wasn't convinced, but he didn't pursue the subject. He left the room, and Bates immediately doubled over, breathing heavily to avoid giving voice to the pain. Hearing a noise at the door, he tried to stand straight, but wasn't quick enough to keep Mrs. Hughes from seeing him as she came in.

"Now will you kindly explain what in heaven is going on?" Her tone brooked no argument, but he tried one anyway.

"I'm perfectly well, Mrs. Hughes. A bit stiff, that's all." The words would have been quite convincing if he could have said them without gasping.

For a moment, he thought she had been appeased, as she began to pull the door closed. Only once it was shut did he realize she hadn't been going out. She was now standing firmly in front of him, a surprisingly intimidating figure, for all her slight build. "Just so long as you know I'm not leaving until you tell me."

The point was clear—if she wasn't leaving, neither was he. Bates sank into the nearest chair, groaning with relief as he took his weight off the leg. "I hope you have a strong stomach," he said, pulling up his trousers to display the ruin the brace was slowly making of his already damaged leg. He tried to hold her gaze, but he couldn't, for the shame of the weakness and foolish pride he was revealing.

Mrs. Hughes caught her breath. "Oh, my God." Tears sprang to her eyes, and Bates was hard put not to weep himself at the understanding he saw in her face. "You stubborn, stubborn man. I won't ask what on earth you were thinking, but you know as well as I do, that thing has to go."

He nodded, still reluctant to give up the dream of being whole and capable again. "Yes, I suppose you're right."

"'Suppose,'" she echoed, the sarcasm evident in her tone; Bates was relieved that she was offering him the dignity of a scolding, rather than forcing him to accept her sympathy, or worse, her pity. "You know I'm right. Come now." She reached out for him, helping him to his feet. It seemed wrong to lean on this fragile woman, but Bates could do nothing else—the pain was too great to walk steadily unassisted. "I'm going to help you to your room, you're going to take that dreadful thing off, we're going to clean your leg—" He made a noise of protest, and she sighed. "Fine, _you're_ going to clean your leg. And then we're going to go throw that horrible instrument of torture into the lake."

"I am perfectly capable—"

"Of keeping it and trying it again just to make sure," she said tartly. "I'm going to make sure it's destroyed, Mr. Bates, or I'll tell Lord Grantham all about it."

That silenced him, as she had known it would. His respect and affection for her grew.

* * *

When the clean-up was done, they wrapped the brace up so it wouldn't be seen and left the house like a pair of conspirators. His leg felt better already; the normal pain was bliss compared to the way the brace had felt. Bates followed the housekeeper's quick, firm steps across the boards to the edge of the lake, taking the brace when she handed it to him.

"Well." He glanced at her, but she was unmoved. "Here goes." Bates lifted the thing, preparing to throw it in.

But Mrs. Hughes put a hand out, staying him. "Do you not think we ought to say a few words?"

He looked for humour in her eyes, but she appeared quite serious. "What, 'good riddance'?"

"That." She smiled. "And your promise."

"Very well." She wasn't going to let him off the hook, and he felt an irritation. What business was it of hers if he wanted to improve himself? "I promise I will never again try to cure myself. I will spend my life happily as the butt of others' jokes, and I will never mind them."

Her mouth turned down, and he felt very small suddenly. He'd never noticed how much she reminded him of his mother before. "We all carry scars, Mr. Bates, inside or out, and we must all put up with them as best we can. You're no different to the rest of us; remember that."

"I will try to. That I do promise."

She turned to face the pond expectantly, and he took a moment to aim and then tossed the wretched thing as far as he could.

"Good riddance!" Mrs. Hughes said, laughing a little.

As he watched the bubbles dissipate, Bates couldn't help mourning the dream. For a brief time, he had had hopes of becoming again the strong, capable man he remembered being … but then, that man had been crippled on the inside, instead, and he never wanted to be that again. If a limp and a cane were the price he paid for sobriety, and the friendship of good people like the woman standing next to him, perhaps they were worth having.


	7. All Right

_Thanks for reading, all! _

* * *

_April 1913_

For at least the dozenth time that week, Anna found herself staring off into the air. She couldn't seem to stop thinking about the cold, clammy feel of the dead Turk's arm against her, or the odd, unpleasant smell of his body. The distance from Lady Mary's room to the bachelors' corridor had seemed so much farther than usual as she and Lady Grantham staggered along bearing that unforgiving weight—

This time it was Thomas who caught her just standing there. He cleared his throat loudly behind her. "Some of us have heavy trays to carry, if you don't mind."

"Oh, I'm sorry!" Hastily she got out of his way, letting him carry the laden tray of the luncheon entrees past her.

William was behind him, and he paused long enough to ask, "Anna, are you all right?"

"Fine. Fine, thank you."

He didn't look convinced, but he went on, carrying the tureen of sauce. Anna watched them go, thinking how heavy the body had been as they hauled it across the house. Lady Grantham was stronger than Anna would have given her credit for—both physically and mentally. There was no indication in her manner afterward that anything amiss had occurred; she didn't allude to it in deed or manner. Quite unlike Lady Mary, whom Anna would have thought of before as the strong one. She had gone completely to pieces, weeping all over the house for a man she was supposed to have barely met. Anna tried to model herself after Lady Grantham. She was a servant, after all, and servants were supposed to be impassive. But it wasn't quite so easily done as she'd hoped—the memories of that night seemed impossible to put away completely.

She turned away from the stairs to find Mr. Bates standing in the doorway, his eyes soft with concern. If she could have told anyone, she would have taken him aside. He would have understood, she was sure of it, and the burden of the secret would have been easier for having shared it with someone who wasn't as intimately involved in it as their ladyships. But she couldn't. It wasn't her secret to tell, and she would keep mum if it killed her. Anna looked away while her resolve held, before she pulled him into somewhere private and whispered into his ear how strange it had been, how she seemed to see those wide, staring eyes in the dark at night—

"Anna, don't you have somewhere to be?" Mrs. Hughes asked, coming past as she stood there wool-gathering.

"Yes, Mrs. Hughes. I'm sorry." She seemed to be apologizing a lot these days. That would have to stop, Anna told herself firmly. She would have to pull herself together and forget that night ever happened—if she wanted to keep her job and her sanity, at least.

There was a touch on her shoulder, and she jumped. She hadn't heard him approach, unusually enough. "Anna? Is there something you want to talk about?"

"Oh, no, Mr. Bates." Anna turned to smile up at him, trying to set him at ease.

"You seem distracted recently. I hope it's nothing I've— That is …" He appeared unusually tongue-tied, and Anna was quick to shake her head.

"Nothing like that, don't worry. I'd say, if so."

He chuckled. "I believe you would. But something is bothering you. I can tell. Are you sure you don't want to talk about it?"

"No," she said regretfully. Much as she would have liked to have told him, it wasn't her place. Certainly if Mr. Bates knew something about another person, he would be the first to keep the secret to himself, she thought. She could do no less. "Thank you for asking, but I'm all right now."

"So you admit you weren't before?"

He was quick, catching her out like that. It was one of the many things she liked about him. "Don't worry about me."

"I can't help it." His voice was very soft, and for a moment she wondered if she had heard right. Mr. Bates's eyes were focused on hers, making her feel, as he always did, that she was really being seen. It was a rare and wonderful feeling for a servant, who so often had to be all but invisible. "Is there anything I can do?" he asked. He was leaning down to hear her better, looking so seriously into her face, and Anna felt an unaccustomed flutter in her stomach. She was conscious of a wild wish that he would kiss her, right here in the hallway. If he was a different man, he might have … but Mr. Bates was nothing if not honourable. It was something she treasured in him, that sense of honour. Nonetheless, all thoughts of the Turk had fled right out of her mind, and she couldn't help reaching out to touch the man responsible for that miracle.

She put her hand on his forearm and squeezed it. "You've already done it. Thank you." Hurrying away, she got back to work, leaving him looking after her in confusion. She would put out of her mind the memory of the scene in Lady Mary's room and what followed, for good. That had been a nightmare. But dreams were far more pleasant to think of, and Anna had any number of dreams she could call up—most of which centered around the big man with the tender eyes.


	8. Plain, Everyday Moment

_The first half of this is my idea; the second half is an unfilmed moment from the script book. I always find it interesting to consider the progression of their feelings from Bates's perspective, since he's so stoic during Series 1. Thanks for reading!_

* * *

_April 1913_

Bates was moving toward the servants' hall when he came around the corner and was barrelled into by a small, fast-moving body. Instinctively, his free hand shot out to grasp Anna's elbow in order to steady her, and he looked down to be certain she was all right.

That was his first mistake. As their gazes met, his breath caught in his chest. His skin prickled with her nearness. From the widening of her eyes and the slight parting of her lips, she felt the same awareness he did. It was impossible to look away, impossible to move, impossible to think of anything but how beautiful she looked with her cheeks flushed that way. Flushed for him; he had no illusions there. If she had run into Thomas or William she'd have gone past without a second thought. But she had run into him, and now here she stood in front of him with her eyes starry and her breath coming in short gasps. It would be so easy just to lower his head and—

And he had no right to do so. The reminder was like a bucket of ice water down his spine. He dropped his hand from her arm and stepped back, leaving Anna confused and, yes, clearly a bit hurt. Much as he hated to hurt her, this had to stop between them. Better to do it now than later. He should say as much, he thought.

From the servants' hall a bell pealed, and O'Brien's sharp voice called out, "Lady Sybil's ringing. Anna, are you down here?"

"Oh, her water bottle!" Anna turned from him with a start, hurrying toward the kitchen.

For once, Bates was glad to see her go. That plain, everyday moment where they ran into each other, as could so easily happen any day in the busy servants' hallways, had shown him just what a temptation she was. He turned, limping outside to try to clear his head. It was dark out, which he was glad for. He wanted to hide a bit. But it seemed he wasn't the only one with that idea—William was standing in the shadows against the house. He looked at Bates as he came out, but didn't speak.

They stood there in silence, each thinking long thoughts, for a while. Bates was concerned for William, whose crush on Daisy seemed all-but-hopeless, especially with Thomas sticking his oar in where it wasn't wanted. "Penny for your thoughts," he said at last.

"You'd be wasting your money."

Bates shrugged. "It's mine to waste."

William sighed heavily. "I was just wondering why we get so drawn to people who have no interest in us. What's nature playing at?"

"If you find out the answer to that, lad, you'll put the poets out of business." Bates chuckled.

There was a small answering smile on William's face, and he looked very young. "But … you can't make someone love you, can you?" The answer he was hoping for was obvious enough, but Bates had been distracted by the memory of a pair of blue eyes.

"No," he said. "You can't make them not love you, either, which is just as hard."

"I wouldn't know about that," William said bitterly.

"Not yet, maybe. But you will."

William snorted in disbelief and excused himself, leaving Bates to look up at the stars. They weren't as bright as Anna's eyes, he thought. Not even close. Apparently you couldn't make yourself not love someone, either, even if it was in their best interests.


	9. Open the Door

_Thank you for reading! These scenes are tremendous fun to write._

* * *

_May 1913_

Bates was used to seeing Anna flitting through the servants' hall, constantly in motion, or seated at the table in the servants' hall, hands busy mending or doing other handwork. Still, he hadn't seen her all day today, and frankly—and most disquietingly—he missed her. As Gwen rushed by him, he called to her.

"Yes, Mr. Bates?"

"Where's Anna? Is she well?"

"Sick in bed, Mr. Bates. Just a cold, but Mrs. Hughes thought it best that she get some rest."

"Ah. Thank you, Gwen."

She hurried off.

Reassured though he was, the rest of the day there was still that disquieting sense that everything was just a little bit off, because there was no chance to catch Anna's eye and know that they understood each other. That feeling, of being so familiar with another person that you didn't have to talk to know you knew what the other was thinking, was utterly alien to Bates, and he found now that it was gone that he was hungry for it.

He was a fool. He had no business thinking about her, or feeling things for her, but how could he help it? … He was rapidly coming to the conclusion that he couldn't.

Once the others had gone to the fair, he sat with O'Brien and the new chauffeur Branson in the servants' hall, sorting collars. Much as he disliked asking questions of O'Brien—to show interest in anything was to put your interests in the lady's maid's hands—she was the only source he had for the information he wanted. So he asked after Anna, and got sharp insults in return that nevertheless contained the news he was after, that Anna was still sick in her bed.

He hated to think of her up there alone in the dark while everyone else was at the fair. Especially considering that if she had been well, he'd have gone to the fair with her and relished every moment spent at her side.

Getting up, he excused himself and put away the collars before going into the kitchen. Mrs. Patmore was writing in her ledger, her nose practically pressed into the pages. As he came in, she sat back with a heavy sigh, picking up her teacup and stretching her legs out in front of her.

"All on your own?" Bates asked.

"And isn't it a blessed relief."

It was awkward, standing there with the cook looking at him expectantly, waiting for him to tell her what he was doing there. "I was just wondering if anyone had taken Anna up some supper."

Mrs. Patmore narrowed her eyes, squinting up at him, and Bates felt like a butterfly pinned to a card and on display. "Well, if they haven't, she'll have to starve. I cannot put any more weight on these sad and aching feet tonight." She sighed, putting the teacup down. "I'm sure Gwen will take her up something when she gets back from the fair. Of course," and now there was a rather sly look on the cook's face, "that might be hours yet, if they're having so much fun."

If he were a different sort of man, he would be blushing right about now. There was no question that the cook understood what he was doing there—and worse, why Anna's supper was so important to him. He hadn't reckoned on being so transparent when he had this idea in the first place. He'd only been thinking about Anna's well-being.

He cleared his throat. "Could I ask you a small favor, Mrs. Patmore?"

"Depends what it is, naturally." Yes, definitely a sly look. She was going to make him ask.

"I wondered if you'd mind if I put a tray together for Anna."

"Hm. Just a little bite to eat?"

"Yes."

"All right … but just this once. Don't go thinkin' you can meddle around in my kitchen at all hours," she warned him, turning back to her ledger and squinting at the entry she'd just written.

"I wouldn't dream of taking advantage of your kindness, Mrs. Patmore."

Bates took his time, putting the tray together carefully and with thought for what Anna might find appetizing. It was far more than "just a little bite" by the time he was done. And he couldn't resist adding some flowers that had come down from the dinner table. She was far prettier than the blossoms, he thought, and cursed himself for a romantic fool who had no right to be anything of the sort.

Mrs. Patmore looked up as he left the kitchen, eyeing the tray with a knowing smirk, but she said nothing.

It was a bit of a job carrying the tray up the stairs without dropping anything or letting anything topple over, but he made it at last, and stood knocking at the door separating the men's corridor from the women's.

* * *

Anna was sitting up in bed, trying to focus on her book over the pounding in her head, and trying not to think resentfully of all the others at the fair. Mr. Bates was probably there, wandering around. Or was he? She found she couldn't picture him there. Not without her, at least. But what fun it would have been to go with him.

She heard a knocking sound and looked up from the words she couldn't make sense of anyway. It came again, and she got up, throwing a shawl around her shoulders and making her way into the hall. Someone was knocking at the door separating the corridors. In the shadow of the frosted glass, it looked like a big person with broad shoulders.

Anna's heart sped up. What could Mr. Bates want? Was he checking on her, concerned for her well-being?

He called her name.

"Mr. Bates?"

"Open the door!"

She looked around. The floor was deserted; there was no one to see. But still, rules were rules … "I daren't. No one can open that door except Mrs. Hughes."

"Just for a moment. I've brought you something."

He had? What could it be? The curiosity was overwhelming. She lifted the latch and unfastened the lock to see him holding a dinner tray. A pretty one, with a vase of flowers; he had gone to a lot of trouble, it seemed. How had he gotten that tray all the way up the stairs, with his leg the way it was?

It was such a lovely gesture, and she wanted to take it, but there would be questions, and she'd have to explain … "I don't know if I should—"

"Sh." He held out the tray, clearly not taking no for an answer, and Anna couldn't help but smile as she accepted it. He smiled back, and they stood there for a moment, looking at each other, as she held the tray. She wanted to ask why he had brought it. She wanted to ask if he had missed her when she wasn't downstairs, the way she had missed him while she was confined to her room. But before she could decide what and how to ask, there was a noise from the hallway behind him. They both jumped, and she hurried to close the door between them, much as she hated to.

Still, even if she hadn't been able to actually speak, there had been more in his eyes than friendship, she thought, lifting the sweet-smelling flowers to her nose. He felt something for her, and had shown it for the first time—that was treasure enough for one night. She savored every bite that was on the tray he had so carefully prepared, and the food tasted all the better for it.

* * *

_A/N: Part of the conversation with Mrs. Patmore is from the script book; I left off the deleted scene with Gwen bringing in a tray later because I think there's a timing issue, and I didn't think it added all that much.  
_


	10. It Wasn't the Same

_Thanks for reading, all! This is also from the script book. It's the last one from the book, though - the good unfilmed scenes were all toward the beginning. ( Carrie86 - I couldn't reply directly to your review because you have PMs disabled, but you - and anyone else who's interested - can find the script book at Amazon, or doubtless other booksellers. It's a pretty good read.)_

* * *

_May 1913_

Bates was sitting at the table in the servants' hall, cleaning a top hat. He frowned at the stain down the side. What on earth had his lordship walked under?

Then Mrs. Hughes came in, with a pale but smiling Anna right behind her. The hat forgotten, Bates practically leapt to his feet, he was so relieved to see her well. The days she'd spent in bed had been the longest of his sojourn at Downton so far. "Does this mean you're better?" he asked. He would have winced at the eagerness in his own voice, but it appeared to go largely unnoticed by the assemblage in the room. Except, of course, for O'Brien, who sneered at him, and Anna, whose smile widened.

O'Brien said, "Don't tell me. Let me guess. She doesn't feel up to starting work."

"I do. I want to," Anna assured her. O'Brien sniffed, no more pleased with that answer than she would have been with the other. Nothing did seem to please O'Brien.

Mrs. Hughes patted Anna on the arm. "Not yet. Try a little mending, but that's enough for now." She put a sewing basket down at Anna's place and pointed to it sternly. Or what would have passed for sternly in another woman. Mrs. Hughes' soft heart was all too evident in the concern in her eyes as she waited to make sure Anna actually sat down.

Bates sat, as well, feeling immeasurably happier now that Anna was in her place at his side.

Anna dug into the basket, removing a torn apron. She sighed. "I wish she'd let me do more."

"Of course you do," O'Brien said, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

They sat for a moment in silence while Anna threaded her needle and began mending the tear. "I hate being ill," she said. "My mother used to look down on ill people. She used to say 'oh, they're always ill,' as if it were their fault."

Thomas blew out a long plume of smoke from his cigarette. "My mother worshipped disease. If we ever wanted to get anything out of her, we had to start by pretending to be ill."

As Daisy laughed as though Thomas had said the funniest thing ever, Bates reflected how easy it was to see those two attitudes in Thomas and Anna's differing approaches to life and work. One who shirked as much as he could, one who worked herself as hard as was necessary, and sometimes harder, to get things done right.

William snorted, glaring at Daisy. Poor fellow, he really had no chance as long as Thomas's light continued to shine so brightly in the kitchen maid's eyes. "You talk such rubbish."

Daisy frowned at him. "Don't say that." To Thomas, she added, "Tell us more."

But Mrs. Patmore was in the doorway of the kitchen. She waved a spoon. "Daisy, perhaps you can delay hearing Thomas's life story, and come and help with the dinner."

"Yes, Mrs. Patmore." Daisy was on her feet immediately, heading for the kitchen, but not without a lingering glance at Thomas.

The byplay between the rest of the staff was the same as it had been yesterday, and the day before, but now Anna was back, her soft lips tightening as she watched Daisy go, and Bates could feel that someone else heard and saw things the same way he did. He leaned over, whispering, "Welcome back. It wasn't the same, without you."

O'Brien muttered to Thomas, not quietly, "Some people are easily pleased," but it didn't matter to Bates what she thought, because Anna was smiling and her cheeks were turning pink, and perhaps tonight after dinner they would sit together and talk quietly over their tea. Bates returned to the hat, feeling as though all was right again with his world.


	11. Poetry

_Thanks for reading, all! _

* * *

_June 1913_

As Bates came through the kitchen into the servants' hall, Daisy pushed past him with a serving fork in her hand. The fork snagged on the lower half of his sleeve, ripping the fabric.

"Oh, Mr. Bates, I'm so sorry!"

"Not to worry, Daisy. It was an accident."

"Daisy, you foolish girl!" Mrs. Patmore scolded. "Next time, carry it the other way. You'll have someone's eye out if you carry it like that."

"Sorry, Mrs. Patmore. Sorry, Mr. Bates." The girl appeared near tears.

"No harm done, Daisy."

He continued to the servants' hall, wondering how exactly he was going to mend that tear. He could sew a bit, but the tines appeared to have gone right through, lining and all. It was more complicated than most of the sewing he'd been asked to do, and while it wasn't his only coat, it was certainly the one in the best shape. He'd have quite a time replacing it, if he couldn't fix it.

"What was all that about?" O'Brien asked sharply, looking up from the lace she was ripping off a frock.

"Nothing. Daisy caught my sleeve. It's a bit of a mess, I'm afraid."

Anna was reading a book in a rare moment of leisure. She looked up. "How bad is the tear?"

"It's small, but a bit beyond my capabilities, I'm afraid. It's all right. I have another one."

"Let me see." She was on her feet now, her book laid aside, and he moved past O'Brien so Anna could see the sleeve. Her little fingers brushing his arm through the cloth of his coat felt— No, they didn't, not at all, he told himself sternly. Anna looked up at him. "I could sew this for you. It wouldn't take any time at all."

"No, thank you, Anna. I couldn't ask you to do such a thing. You were reading."

"You aren't asking, I'm offering, and I can read another time."

He knew that determined tone; he had already lost this argument. But he didn't want her to give up her free time for him, not if he couldn't offer anything in return. Perhaps … Hesitantly, he said, "I could read to you while you work."

Anna's lips parted, color rising in her cheeks. Her smile called an answering one from him as she said, "I'd like that very much, Mr. Bates. Thank you!"

"So the rest of us have to be exposed to whatever trash you were reading?" O'Brien complained.

"It's just you, and you're free to go elsewhere if you don't like it," Anna snapped back.

O'Brien subsided, grumbling under her breath. Bates shrugged his coat off, handing it to Anna, who hurried off to get her sewing kit. Bates took his seat at the table, picking up the book, hoping that Anna hadn't been reading something he would be embarrassed to read aloud. He wasn't a bit surprised to find that the practical, down-to-earth Anna was a poet at heart; the book was a volume of Wordsworth.

Careful not to lose her place, he flipped through the pages, looking for the poem that immediately sprang to mind. Daffodils weren't tulips, exactly; they were a bit too delicate to be Anna. But they were cheerful and bright, as she was.

Anna came back with her sewing kit, the coat folded over her arm, and took her seat next to him.

"Do you mind if I flip around a bit, or should I pick up where you left off?" he asked her.

"Whatever you like, Mr. Bates, thank you."

* * *

Black thread on black fabric was never easy to work with, and she wanted this to look especially nice. Anna bent over the sleeve, pulling the edges of the tear together.

Next to her, Mr. Bates rustled the pages of the book, finding the poem he'd been looking for. He cleared his throat.

"'I wander'd lonely as a cloud' …"

Anna tried to keep the heat from rising to her face. If he only knew that this was her dearest fantasy: the two of them sitting together as she worked and he read her poetry, his deep voice rising and falling, bringing the poet's words to life. He took his time, not rushing the cadence as some might have, enunciating every word as though he was thinking about it as he read. She concentrated on breathing, on the needle moving through the cloth. Around her, the servants' hall was filling up, the others staying quiet as they took their seats in deference to his reading.

"'In vacant or in pensive mood,/ They flash upon that inward eye/ Which is the bliss of solitude;/ And then my heart with pleasure fills,/ And dances with the daffodils.'"

There was a short silence after he finished the poem. Anna looked up from her sewing, meeting his eyes all too briefly before his gaze dropped as he riffled through the pages. She couldn't say a word, her breath catching in her chest, and she was grateful for Daisy, who exclaimed, "Oh, Mr. Bates, that was lovely! You could go on the stage!"

That broke the moment, to Anna's relief, and clearly to Mr. Bates's, as well. He chuckled. "Thank you, Daisy."

"What's all this, then?" Thomas asked, taking a long drag on his cigarette.

"Anna offered to mend my coat."

"So you're reading her poetry? Surely there are better ways," Thomas said, his meaning clear.

Mr. Bates hadn't missed the inference, either. He looked up at Thomas, his eyes flashing.

Anna jumped in before there could be further words between the two men. "Better than repaying a kindness with a kindness? I can't think of any."

Gwen, sitting on Mr. Bates's other side, said, "I think it makes a nice change of pace. Read another, Mr. Bates, will you, please?"

"Of course." He found a page, lifting the book, and began to read. "'In this still place, remote from men …'"

Anna returned to her sewing, losing herself in the moment.

* * *

_A/N: The poems are "I wandered lonely as a cloud" and "Glen-Almain", from _Poems in Two Volumes, _William Wordsworth_


	12. Always Sad

_Thank you all for reading! _

* * *

_August 1913_

Anna was halfway through making the bed in Lady Edith's room, thinking about Gwen on her way to her job interview. She hoped the other girl did well; while she didn't relish having to share her room with someone new, Gwen deserved to be able to do what she wanted. Everyone should, she thought. She didn't envy Gwen, though, having to sneak around, and go amongst strangers, and answer questions.

With some surprise, she heard the faint tap of Mr. Bates' cane, and saw him come around the door. "Shall I give you a hand?" he asked.

"Oh, would you? Takes half the time with two." Industriously, she tucked the sheet under, trying to hide her happiness at seeing him. It wasn't uncommon to run into him up here, especially if his work in Lord Grantham's dressing room had taken extra time. But it was always a nice change of pace to see him in the middle of the morning.

Mr. Bates hung his cane on the doorknob and bent over the bed, tucking in the sheet on his side. "I always feel a bit sorry for Lady Edith," he observed after a moment.

"Me, too," Anna said. "Although I don't know why, when you think what she's got and we haven't."

They bent over, picking up the coverlet and pulling it up over the pillows. "Mrs. Hughes said she went after the other heir, Mr. Patrick Crawley, the one who drowned."

"That was different. She was in love with him."

Patting down the coverlet, Mr. Bates asked, "What happened?"

"She never got a look in. He was always set up to marry Lady Mary."

"He's a braver man than I am … Gunga Din." Mr. Bates smiled, and Anna chuckled. Lady Mary certainly could be forbidding, especially when you didn't know her well. As they straightened the coverlet, he said, "Sad to think about."

Thinking of Lady Edith and her hopeless feelings for Mr. Patrick, Anna said, "It's always sad, when you love someone who doesn't love you back." Only when she had finished the sentence did she think about what she had said and who she had said it to. She'd never spoken about her growing feelings for him, but he had to have noticed. Sometimes she was sure he knew, and even returned them, and other times she thought she must be imagining things. She couldn't help adding, "No matter who you are."

No question he had noticed that. His face froze, his eyes widening just a bit as he looked at her across the bed. Then he blinked, the sudden aware look disappearing. "No, I mean it's sad that he died."

Anna was disappointed. She had hoped the allusion might have shaken something out of him, some acknowledgement or explanation. He had to have seen how she felt about him by now. "Oh. Yes," she said at last, her fingers restlessly smoothing the coverlet. "Very sad. He was nice." She picked up the bundle of used sheets and Lady Edith's candle, moving around the end of the bed toward the door, where he was waiting for her to go first. "Well, thank you for that. Much appreciated."

"My pleasure." She was almost through the door when he spoke again, and Anna stopped, turning to look up at him. "Perhaps … Mr. Patrick did love her back, he just couldn't say."

It was impossible to tell by his face or his eyes if he really meant Mr. Patrick or if he was talking about himself. Either way, Anna wasn't sure why a man couldn't say, if he loved someone enough. "Why ever not?"

"Sometimes we're not at liberty to speak. Sometimes … it wouldn't be right."

As Anna watched him, sure now that he was talking about himself, and that he was trying to tell her not to care for him, he looked away. He pushed past her through the door with uncharacteristic rudeness. Anna stood there, stunned, for a long moment. That had been pretty clear, hadn't it? She should settle for his friendship. That was valuable enough, after all, she tried to tell herself around the sudden emptiness she felt.

She walked down the hall with her bundle of dirty sheets, thinking that she did envy Gwen, after all. At least if she didn't get this job, another one might be out there for her.


	13. Snuffbox

_And the plots begin to thicken! Thanks for reading, all. I'm happy to take requests - if there's a scene you'd like to see, especially as the story reaches some of the larger time-gaps between in-show plot elements, please feel free to suggest it._

* * *

_August 1913_

As soon as Mr. Carson was out of the room, O'Brien and Thomas had turned on Mr. Bates, making it clear who they thought it was who had taken the snuffbox. As if he'd steal, Anna thought indignantly. The gong rang, and everyone's chairs scraped across the floor as they got up and hurried out. Mr. Bates stayed seated, and Anna looked at him with concern. He wouldn't meet her eyes. Did he think she agreed with Thomas and O'Brien? Did he think all the servants were against him?

"I hate this kind of thing. I hope to God they find it," he said, his face tense. He did look at her now, and Anna tried to put all her concern for him, all her faith in his honesty, into her eyes. He didn't seem to have seen it, though, because he turned away, his expression closing off. She couldn't bear that look. "You'd better get a move on." His voice was rough.

Anna couldn't move. She hated to see him like this.

Mr. Bates got up instead, leaving the room. Reluctantly, Anna followed.

* * *

Bates moved as fast as he could, eager to get away from all the other servants for a time. He knew how this would go. The atmosphere of suspicion would thicken, they would all look at him with distrust, and eventually he would have to leave. Or, just as bad, he'd have to confess to his past.

Even Anna. That was what hurt the most, that she hadn't known what to say. Oh, she'd spoken up for him against Thomas, but Bates had seen the pity in her eyes. He wouldn't have her pity; he would not. He pounded the cane against the floor particularly firmly to emphasize his determination. If Anna thought he was a thief—if there he ever saw suspicion in her eyes—he couldn't bear that. Hard as he had tried to keep her from learning to care for him, he had come to depend on her warmth and her support.

Well. There was nothing to be done for it at the moment. He'd have to wait and see, and keep a weather eye out for the missing item.

* * *

"I hope they find that snuffbox," William was saying earnestly as he carried a tray into the kitchen. "What happens if they don't?"

"They'll organize a search, won't they?" Thomas said as Anna came in after him, carrying a tray full of serving dishes. "I wouldn't be Mr. Bates. Not for all the tea in China."

There was something smug in his voice that Anna didn't like. But Thomas was always smug, and she never did like it. "Wouldn't you, Thomas? I daresay he feels just the same about you." Putting the tray down, she turned around to catch a long, smirking look between Thomas and O'Brien. "What's the matter with you?" she asked O'Brien.

"Nothing."

_Nothing, my eye_, thought Anna. She walked out of the kitchen, wondering about them. A missing snuffbox, Mr. Bates all but accused by Thomas, and O'Brien looking entirely too pleased with herself. Those couldn't be coincidence.

* * *

Mrs. Patmore buried her face in her handkerchief. "I don't see how it happened!"

_Poor woman_, Bates thought. Clearly there was something wrong in the kitchen—Daisy wasn't nearly as clumsy as Mrs. Patmore seemed to think she was—but salt and sugar were easily confused for each other. And nothing would be accomplished by all the staff standing around and staring at the weeping cook. "Come on everyone, let's give Mrs. Patmore some room to breathe." Passing by Anna, who had her hands on the cook's shoulder, he said, "You, too."

"I don't think I should leave her," Anna said.

"Yes, you should. Mr. Carson knows what he's doing." He had faith in Mr. Carson; he only hoped whatever was wrong with Mrs. Patmore was something that could be mended.

"Mr. Bates, wait," Anna said, catching him up as he was passing Mrs. Hughes' sitting room. She looked around to be sure none of the others were nearby. "I think I know where that snuffbox is."

"Where?"

"Hidden in your room."

It cut him even more deeply than he had imagined it would. Surely, she couldn't suspect him so easily. Not Anna. "You don't think that—"

"'Course I don't!" She shook her head, a little smile crossing her face. "Silly beggar."

"Then, why—"

"I bet Thomas would like it if they took you for a thief."

Realization dawned. Of course. He was an idiot for not thinking of it earlier. And trust Anna to put the pieces together. "Yes, I expect he would."

"Go upstairs now and find it." A devilish twinkle came into her eyes. Bates found it captivating. "And when you have, you can choose whether to put it in Thomas's room, or give it to me, and I'll slip it into Miss O'Brien's."

"You naughty girl." Naughty, and utterly delightful.

"Fight fire with fire. That's what my mum says." She hurried off, leaving Bates looking after her. Not only was she devious and clever, she had kept her head and come up with the answer while he was lost in a fog of fear and doubt. What an amazing woman.

He shook himself. This was no time to moon about—he needed to find that snuffbox, and damned quickly.

* * *

Everyone was seated in the servants' hall as Anna hurried in. Mr. Bates looked up at her as she took her seat, and she let her eyes twinkle at him.

"Mr. Carson," she called. "We were wondering about that snuffbox. Has it turned up yet?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Well, I think we should have a search," Mr. Bates said.

Both Thomas and O'Brien froze, slowly lifting their heads to stare at him. "What?" Thomas asked.

"Doesn't do to leave these things too long," Mr. Bates said as the two men's eyes held across the table, the challenge plain, at least to Anna.

"Mr. Carson can search the men's rooms, Mrs. Hughes the women's," Anna said. "And it should be right away, now we've talked of it, so no one has a chance to hide the box. Don't you agree, Mr. Carson?"

The butler clearly had no idea what was going on. "Perhaps it's for the best," he said, a little reluctantly. "Although I'm sure I won't find anything. I'll fetch Mrs. Hughes." He turned away, walking down the hall.

No sooner had he done so than Thomas and O'Brien were on their feet, hurrying out of the room.

Anna glanced at Mr. Bates, who was holding in his smile with some difficulty. She felt quite proud of herself. She had foiled the plot, cleared Mr. Bates, and proven to him that the other servants had faith in him.


	14. Just Come Out with It

_Thanks for reading, everyone! I love writing these two._

* * *

_August 1913_

It was a beautiful day for a walk. And she was walking with Mr. Bates, which was always a good thing. But Anna wasn't happy. She was frustrated with waiting for him to speak up. He had to know how she felt; she thought there was a good chance he felt something, too. But he wouldn't say; he avoided the issue, pretending it didn't exist.

So many times she had wanted to speak up herself, just get it out in the open. But generally women didn't … and Anna didn't want to jeopardize their friendship. If she spoke up and he didn't return her feelings, it would be awkward, and they would still have to sit next to one another and work together and eat meals with one another. Anna had yet to be willing to take that risk. "What do you think will happen to Mrs. Patmore?" she asked instead.

"Oh, she'll muddle through, with Daisy for help. In the long term, we'll just have to wait for the doctor to give his opinion."

"I hope there's something they can do."

"I hope so, too. But if there isn't, I hope they tell her there isn't. Nothing is harder to live with than false hope."

And there he went again. He was dropping those remarks into their conversations more and more frequently, the ones that hinted at some obstacle between them and never actually came out and said anything. Frustrated, Anna stopped and snapped at him. "I wish you'd just come out with it."

He stopped, too. "With what?"

"Whatever it is you're keeping secret."

Mr. Bates took in a perceptible deep breath and glanced toward the others, who were all far ahead out of earshot. Quietly, he said, "I can't."

"You don't deny it, then?"

"No, I don't deny it. And I don't deny you've a right to ask. But I can't." He paused. "I'm not a free man."

The sentence struck her like a blow. She'd thought of a previous marriage as one possible reason he wouldn't speak, but she hadn't imagined it could actually be true. "Are you trying to tell me that you're married?"

"I have been married, yes, but that's not all of it."

Anna was struggling to keep her composure. She'd been prepared for him not to share her feelings; she'd occasionally dared to hope that he might return those feelings and simply not know about hers. But she hadn't been able to steel herself against the incredible frustration of having her feelings returned and having him unable to do anything about it. He'd tried to warn her, suggesting that he wasn't at liberty to say, but she still hadn't wanted to believe it could be so. And he wasn't telling her what the obstacles were, so she couldn't even try to surmount them.

The words simply couldn't be contained any longer. She gathered herself up, determining that she would speak out and make things plain on her side, even if he wouldn't on his. "Because … because I love you, Mr. Bates." He gave no reaction other than a softening of the eyes that she wouldn't have seen if she wasn't so familiar with him. She plunged on. "I know it's not ladylike to say it, but I'm not a lady, and I don't pretend to be." And there it was, plain as she could make it.

"You are a lady to me. And I never knew a finer one." Their eyes met, but he didn't say anything further until they were interrupted by a carter coming by.

"If you want a lift, I can take one of you, but not more."

Mr. Bates suggested she should go, but Anna thought it was only fair that he should, sparing his leg. And she wanted to walk, to think, to mourn the dreams that she had just barely begun to have, broken already. "No, you must go," she said. "Then we can all hurry up and meet you there."

"Yes, all right. Mustn't slow you down." In a different tone, he added, "I've done too much of that already."

Anna looked at him reproachfully. As if it was his fault she'd gone and fallen in love with him. She was the one who had let it happen even in the face of his lack of encouragement.

Mr. Bates hopped into the cart and it rolled away, leaving Anna to walk quickly after it. She kept her eyes on the toes of her shoes, knowing that he was watching her and not wanting to lift her head to see any pity in his face.

What was she going to do? She'd begun to love him for who he was—he wasn't going to stop being that. She hoped he wouldn't stop being her friend, because that would hurt terribly, having to sit next to him and not be able to talk to him or count on his humour and his support.

Now, with the cart far up ahead, Anna lifted her head to look after him. She didn't see that she had any choice, not really. She hadn't chosen to fall in love with him. The way she looked at it, that had been all but done the moment he walked in the door at Downton. Falling out of love with him was even less in her control; she couldn't live and work in the same house with him and not love him for everything that was good in him. She would just have to go on as she'd begun, she told herself, squaring her shoulders, and hope that someday something would change. And he would have to get used to being loved by her, whether he wanted to or not.


	15. What If He Told Her?

_Thanks for reading! _

* * *

Bates watched her for as long as she remained in view of the cart. How could you not admire a woman like that? He knew what bravery it had taken to put her cards on the table. It hurt not to be able to respond to her the way such a declaration deserved to be responded to. But she was wasting herself on him; he was not free to accept her love, and she had to know that straight out.

Even at that, he hadn't been able to bring himself to the full truth. "Have been married?" He scoffed at himself. He was well and truly married and no mistake about it. There was no question in his mind that Vera would be back someday, out for whatever she could get from him. He hoped that when that day came, he could persuade her he was of no further use to her and convince her to get a divorce … but it was far more likely that he would have to leave Downton, instead, in order to get away from her. Besides, even if by some miracle he could convince Vera to let him go, what young woman would truly want a divorced man? Not able to be married in the church, looked down on by respectable people because of mistakes her husband had made in his past—that was no life for a fine woman like Anna. She said she loved him, but surely she hadn't thought about what that might mean for her in the long run.

What if he told her? He could sit her down and tell her, straight out, all of it, the whole shameful mess of it, sparing himself no details. He could tell her that he had been a drunkard, that he had mistreated the only other woman who had been foolish enough to love him—both of them, if you counted his mother, whom he hadn't been very nice to after the war. He could tell her about jail, about the theft he had taken responsibility for, about the lies he had told to keep those things from being known at Downton.

The cart pulled up in front of the flower show. He got down, with a nod of thanks for the driver, and stood next to the hall, watching the road for her. He should tell her everything; she deserved no less. But he was a coward. He couldn't bear to watch the trust and friendship and … yes, the love in her eyes disappear in shock and disdain.

They were all coming now, Anna having caught up to the rest. She wouldn't meet his eyes as she went past, and Bates felt keenly the loss of the enjoyment he had looked forward to. It would have been so nice to walk next to her through the flowers, enjoying the rare day out at her side. Instead, he kept to himself, trying not to watch for her.

It wasn't until the end of the program that he finally felt Anna in her usual place next to him and turned to look at her. The uncertainty and distress on her face cut him to the quick. He wished he could take it all back and tell her what she wanted to hear, but how much worse would it be later if he let her think there was a future, or room to hope? Honesty was the best thing for her, he told himself. She would get over it, in time, surely. She must—a woman like Anna could not be allowed to throw herself away on a man who could never be worthy of her.

He turned back to listen to the Countess reading off the names of the winners, but he heard none of them.


	16. Such Stubbornness

_Much as I like the scripted scenes, it's also fun to fill in the gaps. Thanks for reading!_

* * *

_September 1913_

Several weeks after the flower show, Anna was ironing a frock of Lady Sybil's, a detailed gown with lots of darts and pleats, when she heard Mr. Bates' distinctive tap in the hall. She looked up to see him standing in the doorway. Feeling her cheeks heat under his scrutiny, she turned her focus back to the dress, glad that it was so complicated because it gave her something to concentrate on while his eyes were on her. Unusually for him, he didn't move, or speak, and at last she broke the silence.

"Have you never seen a woman iron before, Mr. Bates?"

Since her declaration, and the kind but firm manner in which he had closed that door, things were almost back to normal between them, and Anna was content with that—mostly. But it was obvious that he wasn't; she kept catching him looking at her with that inscrutable expression, and she had been bracing herself for the moment when whatever was bothering him came bursting out.

Now was that time, it seemed, because suddenly he said, "I'm much older than you are."

Anna didn't bother to look up. "I know."

"I haven't led an … exemplary life."

"I know." Now she did look at him, after putting the iron carefully away. It was cooling, anyway. She'd have had to reheat it to keep ironing.

Mr. Bates looked up and down the hall, then stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. "You have no idea."

"Then tell me."

"Anna." There was pleading in his voice.

She put her hands on her hips. "No, Mr. Bates. It's time to fish or cut bait. Either you tell me why I should try to stop myself loving you, and make it a good reason, or you have to get used to the idea that I know what I'm doing."

"I can't."

"On either score?"

"On either score."

"Do you think so little of me that you imagine my respect for you would turn so quickly?"

"On the contrary. I think … so much of you that I … couldn't bear to see it turn." It was hard for him to say, she could see that, and it was the closest he had come yet to admitting to his own feelings.

"I told you once before that whatever I learned about you would make no difference in what I thought of you. I say so again now, Mr. Bates. No difference. None."

They were silent, their eyes taking over the battle of wills. At last, he shook his head. "I simply can't believe that."

"Then you sell yourself, and me, very short." Anna picked up the dress. It wasn't nearly finished, but she didn't care. She would convince Lady Sybil to wear something else this evening. "Excuse me."

It looked for a moment as though he wasn't going to let her pass, but she waited, patiently, and he opened the door. She left the room with quick, firm steps, as angry with him as she'd ever been. What purpose was there in holding on to such stubbornness?

It would have surprised her a great deal to know that he was thinking the same thing about her.


	17. The Whole Trouble

_All those stairs, you have to think someone would trip occasionally - at least, that was my theory when I came up with this idea. Thank you for reading!_

* * *

_November 1913_

Bates was sitting at the table in the servants' hall with his book, enjoying a rare moment of solitude there, when he heard the sharp tap of footsteps coming down the stairs. His pulse quickened; it had to be Anna. No one else moved quite that briskly. Resolutely, he pulled the book closer, reminding himself that he didn't care that it was her—no, that he _couldn't_ care. He had to let her get over the feelings she had for him, so that she could find a man who was free to be what she needed.

But his head turned, anyway, to watch her coming down the stairs, eager as always for the first glimpse of her. He was trying to talk himself out of looking—he didn't have the right—when he saw her foot slip on the step.

Everything afterward happened so fast he didn't have a chance to even stand up, but it seemed at the same time to go so slowly that he could see every movement. Her arms flew out to catch herself, the pile of linens she'd been carrying falling all over the stairs. She took two stumbling steps and almost regained her balance, then tangled her feet in a pillowcase, which twisted her around so that her shoulder hit the wall on the landing, although at least that stopped her fall.

Anna put a hand on the wall to steady herself, the other going to her head. Bates dropped his book, his chair tipping backward to hit the wall as he got up. "Anna!" His heart was pounding; he had been so afraid she would hurt herself and he would be just sitting there, helpless. "Are you all right?" Before he could stop himself, he had reached out to touch her shoulder, gently probing to see if it was injured.

"I'm fine; just clumsy. Look at all those clean linens spoiled!"

"Never mind the linens. Did you hurt yourself?"

"No, really, I'm fine." She was smiling at him now. "If you don't mind, Mr. Bates, I have to pick these up and iron them all again before they can be put away."

"Mind?"

Anna looked at his hand, which was still on her shoulder, his probing for injury having subtly turned into a caress, and then back at him. Her eyes were absolutely sparkling. Bates realized he had just confirmed everything she must have already suspected about how much he cared for her. He dropped his hand abruptly, and reached for the stair rail when his knee wobbled beneath him. He must have left his cane at the table, he'd been in such a rush to reach her. Anna slipped past him, hurrying to get the cane and bring it back to him. If that wasn't just the whole trouble, right there, he thought. Here he was trying to make sure she was all right, and she turned around to take care of him instead.

"Thank you," he said, taking the cane from her.

"Would you like me to get your book, as well?"

"No, thank you. Shall I help you pick these up?" He gestured to the fallen linens.

"I've got it all right."

He nodded, shortly, irritated at himself, at her, at the long-missing Vera, at his bad leg … irritated just on general principles. He thumped away, back toward the servants' hall. As he went through the doorway, he heard Anna call him.

"Mr. Bates?"

Turning his head, he met her eyes, seeing in them a happiness that hadn't been there earlier. And he couldn't help the small smile that came to his lips in response. He had tried, God knows he had tried, but what was between them couldn't be denied.


	18. Gifts

_Thanks for reading! _

* * *

_December 1913_

Anna had considered putting the small oblong parcel down amongst the other gifts the staff would be exchanging, but she felt shy about it. Most of the other servants seemed to know what was between her and Mr. Bates—or know as much as she knew, which wasn't half enough to satisfy her—but she didn't relish the idea of giving him a gift in front of them all. Thomas and O'Brien would no doubt have something rude to say and spoil the moment. Instead, she tucked it away, hoping that at some point during the day she could find a private moment to give it to him.

* * *

Bates put the present he had picked out for Anna into the pocket of his coat. When the time came to exchange gifts, would he have the courage to give it to her? He still wasn't sure. He'd gone back and forth over whether to give her something at all. It was an open secret that they cared for one another, but he constantly felt guilty that he hadn't kept better control of his emotions. At the least, maybe he could have kept her from knowing that he returned her feelings. But it was harder to do than it seemed, keeping himself aloof and formal when thrown together with her at various points all day long … and when everything in him yearned to be free to give himself to her.

Giving her a gift was only encouraging her to keep throwing her youth away caring for a man who didn't deserve her. Or so he had told himself all the while he was selecting it and wrapping it. Still, she might be sad if he didn't give her something. Maybe just this once, it wouldn't send the wrong message.

Maybe just this once, he didn't care what message he was sending.

* * *

Both of them watched each other anxiously as the servants exchanged their presents, but neither made a move toward their gift. Bates felt a completely unaccountable sting—he had been so sure she would give him something. And then felt like a hypocrite, since he had hoped she would see reason and wouldn't get him anything.

Anna's heart sank. She had thought that whatever obstacle was between them was at least shrinking enough to admit presents, but clearly she had been mistaken. She tried not to let him see that it bothered her, instead exclaiming over the handkerchief from Daisy and the lace collar from Gwen.

* * *

It wasn't until after the young ladies had gone to bed that she had a chance to come back down to the servants' hall, and she was disappointed to find it empty. With a sigh, she slipped outside for just a moment. It was chilly, but not so cold that it was unbearable; and it was a rare chance to be alone. Except that she wasn't. Her heart leaped when she recognized the tall figure standing outside.

"Mr. Bates!" she whispered. "What are you doing out here?"

"Anna? I could ask you the same question."

"Just … came to look at the stars. They're lovely, don't you think?"

He glanced up, too, although he wasn't thinking about the stars when agreed with her. He was thinking, instead, what a fool he was to have waited out here for her, pretending that he was stretching his leg. Despite his best intentions, he seemed unable to keep himself from getting entangled with her.

"Mr. Bates? Can I tell you something?"

More of her terrible, devastating, beautiful honesty? He wasn't sure he could take it. "Of course."

"I didn't come out here to look at the stars. I came because it was the only place I hadn't looked for you yet."

"Anna."

"Now, before you tell me I shouldn't have …" She slipped her hand in her apron pocket and came out with his gift. "This is for you."

"Well, you shouldn't have." They both smiled, and he took her gift out of his coat pocket. "But this is for you."

"You'll be waiting a long time if you expect me to tell you _you_ shouldn't have. Aren't you going to open it?" she asked, eyeing the package, still in his hand.

"You first."

"Both at the same time, then." So they both ripped off the paper at once. Each was holding a small book; Anna's was bound in green paper, Bates's in faded leather. "Shelley," she said.

He looked at the spine of his book. "Shelley."

They had given each other two different editions of the same volume of Shelley's poetry. While Anna had selected it because she thought Shelley might be more suited to a man than Wordsworth or Byron, Bates had chosen it because he thought it was special and yet less romantic than Byron or Browning.

"Thank you, Mr. Bates."

"Thank you, Anna. Merry Christmas."

Her cheeks as red as the cold fingers she laid on his arm, she stood up on tiptoes and kissed him quickly on the cheek, before she could think better of it. "Merry Christmas," she whispered before turning and running back inside the house.


	19. Back to Bite Him

_Thanks for reading!  
_

* * *

_May 1914_

Anna came hurrying into the servants' hall, suppressing a smile. "Her ladyship's not best pleased at being told off in public," she said, sinking into her chair. "William said she was looking daggers."

Mr. Bates closed his book. "I'm sorry I started all this."

Next to him, Mr. Branson leaned back in his seat. "Ah, it's not your fault. Anyway, he ought to be glad he's got a daughter who cares."

Anna suspected Lord Grantham didn't see things quite that way, but before she could say so Thomas appeared in the doorway.

"Her ladyship's ready to leave," he said to Mr. Branson, who stood up hastily. It didn't do to keep the Dowager Countess waiting.

"I'll bring the car around." He took his jacket from the back of the chair, shrugging into it on his way out of the room.

Mr. Bates and Thomas were staring at each other, hard stares that looked a lot like arm wrestling. Mr. Bates had told her about finding Thomas stealing a bottle of wine, a circumstance that had sharpened the dislike and distrust between the two men.

"Pleased with yourself?" Thomas asked, before turning on his heel and leaving.

Anna caught Mr. Bates' eye, hoping he wouldn't let Thomas bait him. "Silly chump." She smiled a little, but Mr. Bates didn't.

"He's nervous. He thinks I'm planning to tell Mr. Carson about the wine."

"Well, he shouldn't have stolen it, then, should he?" Anna would have told Mr. Carson straight away, none of this hesitating. Thomas would find a way to get out from under the threat somehow—it surprised her that Mr. Bates hadn't already figured that out.

"No," Mr. Bates replied, "but I don't want anyone to lose their job because of me."

"Even Thomas? Even after what they tried to do to you?"

"Even then." He met her eyes across the table, and Anna couldn't help smiling. Such a good, honest, decent man—she was proud to call him her friend, and she loved him all the more for the honour he displayed. But she couldn't help the sense of foreboding she felt that somehow this decency would come back to bite him.

* * *

The following day was a busy one, and she'd had to spend a long time on Lady Mary's riding boots. It wasn't until after dinner that Anna heard that Thomas had accused Mr. Bates of stealing the wine. Anna wished she had guessed that was what Thomas would do, so that she could have tried to prevent this cloud of suspicion from falling on Mr. Bates.

He was nowhere to be found in the servants' area, not that she blamed him for that. No doubt he knew what type of gossip there would be, although Anna thought he sold himself short. Other than Miss O'Brien, every one of the servants would more easily believe Thomas a thief than they would Mr. Bates.

After a bit of searching, she found him sitting on some crates outside, his bad leg stretched out in front of him. Typical of him to retreat immediately rather than attempt to fight the accusation. Anna wished she knew what it was that he was so afraid of, why he refused to stand up for himself.

"I thought you must be out here."

"And you'd be right."

She sat on the crate next to him, wishing she could take his hand, or put her arm around him, or something comforting. Instead she settled for saying, "I know you're upset."

"Yes, I'm upset. I've been working here two years, and yet Mr. Carson has no difficulty believing the worst of me."

"I think he has a great deal of difficulty," Anna corrected him. "Which is why he hasn't told his lordship yet." When he didn't respond, she asked, "Can't you just explain about Thomas?"

Shaking his head, Mr. Bates said, "Not now. It would sound like a false accusation."

_Well, of course it would_, thought Anna. _Which is why you should have spoken out as soon as you saw him._ But one of the things she admired so about him was that he was too honourable to put someone else in danger. He'd said as much earlier. Still, though. "You can't take it lying down. Because you're not guilty of any wrong." She was angry for him, she was angry with him for simply letting it be. "And before it's over, I'm going to tell the world."

"Are you?" he asked softly, a small smile crossing his face. "I'm not sure the world is listening."

Anna shook her head. "You may not think so, but I have faith in Mr. Carson, and in his lordship. I think they'll prove you wrong, if you give them the chance."

"I hope you're right." But his tone indicated he didn't agree.

Sighing, Anna got up. If it was up to her to fight for him, then that's what she would do; she just wished he would fight, too.


	20. Honour and Integrity

_Thanks to everyone reading, and special thanks to FanofGoodTV for the feedback and the many great ideas!_

* * *

_May 1914_

Mr. Carson was hounding Thomas. "Do you stand by your story?"

Bates appreciated that Daisy had recanted her false testimony; he even understood why the young girl, star-struck by Thomas's good looks and charm, had been prevailed on to lie in the first place. But this … was too close. He would never know what Mr. Carson had actually thought, and he no longer felt he had any choice but to be honest with the butler and the housekeeper. And with Anna, who stood there glaring at Thomas.

"I don't have a story," Thomas said. He was trying his hardest to hold onto his advantage, no doubt assuming Bates would own up to seeing Thomas stealing the wine in the first place now, because it was certainly what Thomas would have done in his place. Maybe he should … but it wasn't who he chose to be. Not anymore.

"You saw Mr. Bates in here, alone, hanging up the cellar key," Mr. Carson said crisply. "To me, that is a story."

"I only said I might have seen him. I suppose I was wrong."

Bates had to hand it to Thomas—he didn't lack for audacity. He had to be aware that everyone in the room knew he had been lying, but as long as he didn't admit it, there was little they could do to him.

"Miss O'Brien," Mr. Carson went on, "were you then wrong when you thought you saw Mr. Bates carrying a bottle?"

Anna turned her head to stare at Miss O'Brien in shock. "You wicked creature!"

Mrs. Hughes rebuked her, "Anna. You are here to watch, not to participate."

Bates wasn't sure exactly why Anna was there, since she wasn't directly involved in the situation. Having her there made things both easier and harder; he appreciated her loyalty, but he found the whole process excruciatingly embarrassing, and wished she didn't have to witness it.

Miss O'Brien, even more brazen than Thomas, looked directly at Anna, then turned to Mr. Carson. "I don't think I was wrong, no."

"So what do you say to that, Mr. Bates?" Mr. Carson was looking directly at him, now, and he was glad to be able to answer this question, at least, honestly and forthrightly.

"I know this to be untrue, because I have no need of it. Since I arrived at Downton, you have never seen me drink one drop of alcohol." He was proud of that. After prison, he could have gone back to those ways, but they held little temptation for him when compared to creating, and keeping, his good name and his reputation.

Mr. Carson nodded. "Let us say, then, that Miss O'Brien was … mistaken."

"Mistaken, my eye," Anna said. No one admonished her for speaking this time.

"And Daisy, we all know the value of your contribution," Mr. Carson went on.

"Yes, Mr. Carson."

"But I must ask one thing, Mr. Bates. How did you know the wine had been taken?"

The tension thickened almost noticeably. Surely both Thomas and O'Brien assumed he would tell; undoubtedly Anna hoped he would. But he had promised himself not to be that kind of man. He wanted to be left alone, and would, in turn, leave others alone as much as possible. "I'm afraid I cannot answer that."

Mr. Carson looked at him for a moment, seeming to be deciding whether to pursue the line of questioning or not. Bates wondered if Mr. Carson had guessed who had taken the wine in the first place; it seemed likely it wasn't the first bottle Thomas had stolen. Eventually the butler nodded. Would this change Thomas's determination to see Bates out of the valet's position? He imagined it wouldn't. If anything, his refusal to speak would probably make Thomas despise him more. The young footman wouldn't be able to see the advantage in not speaking, and Thomas understood no type of action that did not give him an advantage. He would view Bates's silence as weakness.

Having been dismissed, Thomas, Daisy, and O'Brien filed out of the room. Bates wanted to leave, too, to forget the whole unpleasant business and move on with his life—but he couldn't, not any longer. He knew now how wrong he had been to imagine he could put the past behind him so completely. Now he would have to say, because it would come out eventually, and it would be best if it came from him. Certainly best for the view Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes would take of him … and best for Anna to hear what he had been, what he was, from his own lips. He told himself that, and as Anna was about to follow the others through the door, Bates closed it before he could think better of his decision. "If I might keep you for a minute more, Mr. Carson."

"If you'd like me to leave," Mrs. Hughes suggested.

"No. I would like you to stay, please, Mrs. Hughes, and you, Anna."

Anna nodded, her face tense and pale. He wished he could spare her this, but it was at least part of what he had been keeping secret from her. She had asked him, years ago, for it, and had waited patiently for his answer. She deserved to know, now, if the other two were going to, and he would take the inevitable change in her feelings because he deserved no less.

"You have decided," Bates began, addressing Mr. Carson, "not to take action over the allegations Thomas has made against me because you believe them to be untrue."

"That is correct."

"And you were right; there is no truth in them. But if you were to proceed with the matter, you would find them to be proven." He had tried to brace himself for this, but one couldn't truly prepare oneself to lose the respect of those one considered friends. "Thomas has tried to convince you that I am a drunkard, and a thief."

Anna, bless her heart, broke in to reassure him, not knowing how much harder her simple faith in him made what he had to say. "Which we never believed."

"Because you know no different." His voice was hoarse. He was sorry now not to have told her the truth privately, where he could have apologized for not telling her sooner. Perhaps he could do so later, if she was still speaking to him. "Until a couple of years ago, I was a drunkard. And I was imprisoned as a thief."

Mrs. Hughes drew in a shocked breath; Mr. Carson looked both startled and angry at once, as he deserved to be. Anna just looked sorry. She was too generous to let him see anything else.

"I have repaid your kindness very poorly. I masqueraded as a man of honour and integrity, but by any moral code, I am disgraced."

Mr. Carson was silent.

Quietly, firmly, Mrs. Hughes said, "That can't be the whole story."

"Perhaps not, but it's enough of it to demand my resignation." It tore at him to say the words, but what else could he honourably do? He could no longer trespass on their kindness.

Holding up a hand, Mr. Carson asked, "Do you want to leave, Mr. Bates?"

"No. But I feel I have no choice."

"You owe me a say in the matter, surely," the butler went on.

"If you wish."

"Then I will consider the case and give you my decision when I have discussed it with his lordship. Until then, I hope you will remain in your post."

He glanced at Mrs. Hughes, who met his eyes in distress, and then he looked at Anna, whose gaze fell before his for the first time in their acquaintance. Could he stay here, if Anna wouldn't even look at him? But the truth was, he had nowhere else to go. He nodded.

"Very well, then." Mr. Carson cleared his throat. "You may go now."

He turned and left, not able to look at Anna again, afraid of what he would see in her eyes.


	21. In Everything But Words

_With the scripted scenes, it's often hard to decide whether to do them from Bates or Anna's perspective. In this instance, I tried to do both at once - I'll be interested to hear what you all think of it. Thanks for reading! _

* * *

_May 1914_

Bates waited for her outside, glad for the night air and the quiet to hide his shame in. He would have given anything he had, and more, not to have had to reveal his past to three of the people whose respect he was most anxious to keep. Occasionally, when contemplating the inevitable arrival of this moment, he had thought it might be a relief to have the secret off his chest. But it wasn't a relief; it was a terrible burden to have shocked and disappointed them all so much. Mr. Carson, who had trusted him; Mrs. Hughes, who had believed in him; Anna, who had loved him.

Anna, whom he loved.

He could admit that now, when he might have lost her love forever, when he might be turned away from Downton tomorrow with no character. Anna had taken his heart unaware, slipping beneath his defenses before he'd even had a chance to put them up. By the time he had known what was happening, it was too late to prevent it. She was the sun rising in the morning, she was the moon lighting the darkness of the night. What she had seen in him in return, Bates couldn't imagine; he could only count his blessings to have been so fortunate as to have known her love at all. But he had wanted so much more! For all that he had fought her feelings, and his own, her love had lit a candle within him, had given him hope for the future where before he had thought his life's solitary course settled.

It had been all too tempting to let the incident pass without speaking. Thomas and O'Brien had tried to frame him for theft twice—surely they wouldn't have tried it a third time after the first two had failed. But, he told himself, they would find another way to jeopardize his position. He couldn't take the chance that they would go digging into his past and expose his secrets. If the truth was to come out, and he was convinced now that eventually it would, he needed to be the one to reveal it. As he'd stood there in Mrs. Hughes' sitting room, listening to the accusations, and seeing in both Anna's face and Mrs. Hughes' the determination not to believe, he had been filled with guilt over the deception he had practiced. These good women who believed in him deserved to know the truth, even if it cost him everything he valued.

Bates didn't regret having told them.

But the look on Anna's face, the way she had ducked his gaze, haunted him. He was no longer even certain that she would follow him outside. This morning, he would have known that if something bothered him, she would find him and offer her support. He couldn't count on that now.

Perhaps, he thought, he should give up and just go in, lay aside the fragile dreams that had just begun to form.

And that was when he saw her coming toward him. His heart leaped within his chest.

* * *

Anna had been glad of her work tonight after Mr. Bates' revelation. It had given her time to think about what he had said.

So this was what he had kept secret all this time. The poor man; she wouldn't have wanted to admit to that, either.

She wished she could have reassured him earlier, but she hadn't known what to say. He had been so brave, so upright and honourable, admitting all of that—because they never would have known, otherwise. He wouldn't have had to say; but he did, anyway, because he could not let them labour under a misimpression. Anna remembered her promise, that nothing he could tell her about himself would change the way she felt … but it did. He had been right. It had to. Knowing what he had gone through, what he had risen above to become the man he was today, made her admire him all the more. She couldn't even argue with his offer to resign, not really. It was like him to do so, to try to take the burden off Mr. Carson's shoulders. But … Downton without him? With another man sitting in his chair next to her, day after day? It sounded bleak. Miserable.

Grateful as she had been for her work, by the time Anna was done with it she was burning to talk to him. She had to know if he had considered her at all in his decision to resign, and what hope, if any, she would have if he left.

He was waiting for her in the yard, his expression unreadable.

"Mr. Bates."

"Anna?" The moment after his urgent whisper of her name was one of the longest of his life. He needed so badly to know what she would say.

"Will you really leave?" It wasn't everything she had wanted to say, but it was the most important.

Bates tried to make light of it. "I doubt his lordship wants a thief in the house." He watched her for a long moment while Anna tried to marshal her arguments. He could see now in her face that she hadn't changed her mind about him, or about her feelings for him, and he wished he deserved such faith. But he didn't, and he never had. Gently, he said, "Go to sleep, and dream of a better man." Anna would never know what that sentence had cost him—to admit that he knew of her feelings, to hint that he shared them, and to give them back to her, all at the same time, when all he wanted to do was beg her forgiveness for having lied to her, for not having found a way to prevent her from trusting her heart to someone as unworthy as he.

She shook her head, her throat tightening. Now he spoke out. Now when it might be too late—and only to tell her not to hope. "I can't … because there isn't one."

Unable to stop himself, he reached for her hand, his big fingers closing over her small ones, stroking them. Anna dropped her eyes to their twined hands. It was hard to believe a simple touch of hands could mean so much. She rubbed her thumb over the back of his fingers, wishing she could keep holding on always. Little electric shocks were buzzing along her skin where he touched her, and everything she had wanted to say had been driven completely out of her head.

Anna was so beautiful to him in this moment, her cheeks faintly pink with her reaction to his touch. Bates couldn't stop looking at her.

She looked up to find his eyes, very dark, on hers. Here, finally, was the man she loved, admitting in everything but words that he returned her feelings, and he was looking at her the way she had dreamed of him doing.

They drew together, fingers tightening around each other, and Anna's eyes closed as she waited for the feel of his kiss.

Behind her, glass clattered as someone dropped something. Startled, she leaped back, looking up at Mr. Bates. The moment was broken. She took her hand back and hurried away before she could say all the things she wanted to say and have him tell her, again, not to think of him. Because after that moment, to hear him say those things would have broken her heart.

He looked after her, heartsick at the very thought of leaving her. But what could he do? That decision rested with Mr. Carson and Lord Grantham. He tried to tell himself that she would be better off without him, better off with someone who could offer her a life that was out of his reach for good … but it was getting harder and harder to believe.


	22. Try Not to Miss Me

_Sorry I missed my scheduled update time yesterday! This is one of my favorite moments between them in the whole series - there's so much in the one little exchange. Thanks to all of you for reading!_

* * *

_June 1914_

Anna was on her way to get a quick cup of tea when she passed Mr. Bates in the hallway. Instantly she knew there was something wrong—they always exchanged smiles, at least, if not a brief word. But now he had looked away, unable to meet her eyes. Something new had occurred; hadn't he just come down from his lordship? Surely he hadn't been sacked? She wasn't going to be able to relax over her tea, not now. She caught his sleeve. "Mr. Bates? What is it?"

He looked up and down the hallway. "I'll tell you later."

"I don't think I can wait until later. What's bothering you? Because I can see something is."

He sighed, leaning down a little so she could hear him. "His lordship has seen a letter written to Miss O'Brien by a lady's maid to the wife of my former colonel."

Anna closed her eyes. Trust O'Brien to cause more trouble. Sometimes Anna wished she was a different kind of person and could get back at O'Brien and Thomas for all their nasty ways. "What did the letter say?"

"It … it explained the circumstances of my arrest and conviction."

"Tell me."

He didn't want to—she could see it in his eyes. But he did anyway. "After a dinner party, the regimental silver was found in my home. When asked, I confessed to having taken it."

Anna couldn't stop the exclamation that came to her lips. "Regimental silver? That can't be right!"

"I'm afraid it is."

"I'm sorry; I don't believe it." How could anyone who knew him believe him capable of such a petty, foolish crime? A crime committed in anger, perhaps, but one of this nature? It wasn't in his character.

"How can you say that, when I've confessed to the crime?"

This wasn't the time or place for protestations of her faith in him. Anna took another tack. "Well, his lordship obviously doesn't think that's all there is to it. And I don't, either."

Perhaps there would have been more of an argument, but Mrs. Hughes approached them at that moment. "Anna? Are you set for the 9.00 train tomorrow?"

"All packed and ready."

"You'll be met at King's Cross by Lady Rosamund's chauffeur, which I think is generous, but after that you're on your own."

Anna could barely restrain her smile. She knew exactly what she was going to do with her time in London … but it was best not to mention it or even allow her face to hint at it. Mr. Bates would be the first to tell her to leave it all alone, especially judging from their conversation just now, and Mrs. Hughes might well point out that she should let things lie, or at least let his lordship sort them out. But his lordship, like Mr. Bates, was an honourable man. Anna, bound by ties other than honour to find out the truth, would have a bit more freedom to ask questions … she only hoped that there were good answers out there to be found.

Loud voices came from the kitchen, and Mrs. Hughes sighed. "I must get on. I'm acting referee for Mrs. Patmore and Mrs. Bird."

"Best of luck," Mr. Bates said to her.

The housekeeper shook her head and passed between them on her way to the kitchen, leaving Anna and Mr. Bates alone again. Anna thought of what it would be like, all that time in London far away from him, and she suddenly wanted … what? Reassurance? Maybe that was it. She looked up into his eyes.

"Will you miss me?"

His smile said he would—the one that came spontaneously, the one Anna had only ever seen directed at her, the one that made her knees go weak. He controlled it with an obvious effort, saying, "Try not to miss me. It'll be good practice."

He turned and walked away from her before Anna could form an appropriate response. 'Good practice,' indeed. She'd show him—she was going to find out what had really happened when he went to jail, and she was going to see to it that he stayed at Downton for a good long time. She resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at his stubborn departing back, but only just.


	23. Answers

_This was one of the early chapters I thought about doing - Anna and Mrs. Bates have such potential together, and I think there must be a lot more to that scene than we get to see. Thanks for reading!_

* * *

_July 1914_

Anna couldn't have imagined a better task than being sent to London to accompany Mrs. Patmore, especially once it became clear that her days would be largely empty while she was there other than checking in on the cook's progress after her eye operation. She knew just what she was going to do with her time, too. Mr. Bates acted as though he wanted them all to believe him guilty of a poorly planned crime, just because he had confessed to it, but it wasn't like him. To take silver from the barracks and leave it in his house? He was smarter than that; if he wanted to turn thief, he wouldn't be caught so easily. As to whether the man he had been at that time would have stolen, she couldn't say. The man she knew now would never steal … but he had changed greatly, apparently. Nonetheless, Lord Grantham didn't believe the bald facts in that meddlesome witch of an O'Brien's letter, and Anna didn't, either. She intended to come home from London with some answers.

As she sat in the train on the way to London, she thought about their conversation in the hallway the previous day. She had made her opinion plain, that she refused to believe the facts. He had persisted in trying to push her away, as if his dismissal was all but certain. Anna wished he wouldn't give in so easily. And she wished he would stop reminding her that he could be sacked any day. She didn't think she could bear it if he was, and she didn't want to consider it until she had to.

Once she had been sent away from the hospital so the cook could be prepared for her procedure, she lost no time. Poor Mrs. Patmore—the woman was used to being on her feet, going constantly, from dawn to dusk, and here she was having to sit there for days on end with nothing to do and no one to scold. It was possible she might burst, Anna thought as she hurried toward a bus.

It took her a couple of days to reach the right place and find someone who could give her the information she sought, and then she only managed by dint of pretending to be Mr. Bates's cousin, but eventually she found herself ringing the bell at his mother's house.

Mrs. Bates turned out to be a pleasant, plump woman with snow white hair and a strong resemblance to her son. "May I help you, miss?"

"Mrs. Bates, my name is Anna Smith. I'm head housemaid at Downton Abbey."

"I see. Is anything amiss there?" She saw fear in the older woman's eyes, and hastened to reassure her.

"Oh, Mr. Bates is perfectly well, but there's some … question, you see. About his past." She leaned forward, not wanting to say it too loudly on the street.

"You'd better come in. Can I get you some tea?"

"That would be lovely, thank you."

As she bustled about getting the tea things, Mrs. Bates drew from Anna the current situation. "You say his lordship hasn't taken action yet on the story as he's been told it?"

"No, Mrs. Bates. I think he's waiting, hoping Mr. Bates will tell him more details."

"And John hasn't done so." It wasn't a question.

"No. He won't speak up to save himself."

"Come in here, dear." Mrs. Bates went ahead of Anna into a small parlor, setting the tea things down on a lace-covered table and pouring for both of them. "So, what do you want to know?"

"I want to know the truth about the case against him. I want to know why the sergeant thought it was odd. I want to know what Mr. Bates isn't saying."

"Because you don't believe him to be guilty?" The dark eyes, so like her son's, bored into Anna's.

"No. I don't. I know he's not."

"Well." As if Anna had passed some kind of test, Mrs. Bates handed her a teacup. "You're right, of course."

"Then who was it? Who was the thief?"

"His wife, Vera."

Anna closed her eyes briefly. She should have known. Who else would he have protected in such a way? He must have loved his wife very much to do such a thing for her. So why wasn't he with her now?

Mrs. Bates went on. "She worked at the barracks, sometimes, helping at big dinners and so on. That night her opportunity came and she took it. They knew it was her. Someone even saw her with a big carryall."

"But why did he confess?" Anna asked. Somehow this image of his wife wasn't someone she could imagine Mr. Bates loving. At least, not the Mr. Bates she knew.

His mother looked away, drawing in a deep breath. "Well … John wasn't the same man in those days. The African War had shaken him up and made him angry. He'd been wounded, and he drank a lot more than was good for him."

Anna didn't want to ask the next question, but she needed to know. "Was he violent?"

"No! No, not _violent_," his mother said, leaving Anna to wonder how close he must have come to the strictest definition of the word. "He could be hard, at times, with a tongue like a razor."

Well, that sounded familiar. He still had the tongue, and the sharp intelligence to go with it, although he rarely used either in anger. His anger was as tightly controlled as the rest of him. Anna had to wonder what that control must cost him, and how he had learned it. Prison, she supposed, and war. She was frustrated with him anew—how could he not recognize what strength it took to rise above such things? Her opinion of him, high as it had been to start with, kept rising the more she learned of him.

Mrs. Bates leaned forward earnestly. "He felt he'd ruined Vera's life, Miss Smith."

"Do you agree with him?"

"No! No, I thought she was a nasty piece of work. But … that's why he took the blame."

Anna shook her head. How could the British justice system let such a travesty occur? "Surely, if everyone knew he was innocent—"

"But he confessed! There was nothing anybody could do, once he confessed."

Of course not. He would have known that. "Thank you, Mrs. Bates. I appreciate your telling me this."

"What will you do with what you've learned?"

"I'm going to tell his lordship. He's a good man, and he doesn't want to believe Mr. Bates is guilty, either. He'll see the truth. I know he will."

"You're very determined, Miss Smith."

"I am." She couldn't let him go away from Downton, not if there was anything she could do to keep him there.

The older woman was looking at her with sharp, but kindly, eyes. "A woman doesn't come all this way for no reason."

"No."

"Do you … care for my son, Miss Smith?"

How could she deny it? "Yes, I do. Very much."

"And does he care for you?"

"He hasn't said—"

"He wouldn't." His mother nodded. There was a twinkle in her eyes, and she smiled at Anna. "But I'll tell you this—I knew who Anna Smith was long before you knocked at my door."

Anna blushed. "He's written you about me?"

"He has, indeed. Casually, you know, so I don't get the wrong idea … but I rather think I've got the right one." Those dark eyes regarded Anna seriously, and she could see Mr. Bates's intelligence in them. "I'll admit, it's an ease to my mind to know he's appreciated and understood … and cared for."

"Would you like me to write to you, to tell you when his lordship has made a decision?"

"I'd like that very much. Maybe you can fill in all the things John won't say." Mrs. Bates stood up, reaching for Anna's hand and squeezing it. "Thank you for coming, Miss Smith."

"Thank you for having me, Mrs. Bates."

As she hurried down the sidewalk, ready to get on a bus and go back to visit Mrs. Patmore, Anna was smiling broadly. She hoped the cook's eyes were recovering well, because she couldn't wait to go back to Downton.


	24. What She Learnt in London

_Happy Fourth of July to my fellow Americans ... and happy Thursday to those of you who aren't. Thank you for reading!_

* * *

_July 1914_

Although he'd never have admitted it to her, Bates was burning with curiosity. Anna had come back with a gleam in her eyes that was from more than just a vacation in London, and she wouldn't look at him, although she didn't seem angry. Before he could corner her to ask what had happened, however, poor Lady Grantham had her accident, which turned the whole house upside down.

Once her ladyship was resting, and the doctor had left, Bates went upstairs to Lord Grantham's dressing room to see if there was anything he could do to help relieve the other man's suffering. Never having come close to being a father, Bates could only imagine what it must feel like to be expecting a child and then to lose it so suddenly and tragically.

"The doctor's gone, your lordship, but he's coming back after dinner. Lady Mary's with her now."

"Thank you." The other man didn't turn around—he was staring out across the fields.

Bates asked, "I don't suppose you'll want to change, but is there anything else I can do to be useful?"

His lordship turned, tears in his eyes. "It was a boy." He broke down, weeping, and Bates wished he was a man who could bend a bit more and weep along with his old friend and employer.

Taking out his handkerchief to wipe his eyes, Lord Grantham muttered, "I'm sorry, I don't mean to embarrass you."

"I'm not embarrassed. I just wish you could have been spared this."

It tugged at the heart to see a man like Lord Grantham reduced to this abject sobbing—but it spoke to how good he truly was, that he could be so open about his feelings.

"No, no, I know you do." His lordship was clearly trying to get hold of himself. He took a deep breath. "Thank you. By the way, Anna's told me what she learnt in London."

No wonder she hadn't yet spoken to Bates himself, if she'd gone straight to Lord Grantham. "Has she? She's not told me."

"Oh. Well, the good news is, you won't be leaving Downton. And I need some good news today."

Bates was at a loss for words. The tremendous compliment implied by his lordship's remark was gratifying, but he couldn't imagine that he deserved such loyalty. At the same time, he couldn't deny that he was angry with Anna for her presumptuousness. He hadn't needed her to go prying into his past; he hadn't needed her to fix his affairs at Downton. He meant to stand on his own two feet, by God.

By the time he reached the servants' hall, he had worked himself up and was as angry as he dared get. All the servants, other than O'Brien, who was still with her ladyship, were huddled around the table. Anna's head lifted as soon as Bates walked in, and when their eyes met, he jerked his head toward the door, not wanting to call attention to them if he could avoid it.

She met him outside in just a few moments. "What is it? Have you spoken to his lordship?"

"Yes, I have, and he told me that you and he had already consulted about my future."

The smile on her face faded in the face of his anger. She hadn't expected this reaction, and for a moment he was worried—would it frighten her, that he was angry? Would she retreat from him? But he should have known better.

Anna folded her arms, her lips tightening in that stubborn way of hers. "That's not the way it was. But if you thought I was going to sit here and watch you let yourself be pushed right out of Downton by those two schemers, you had another think coming."

"So you were busy in London, then."

"Yes, I was. I went to see your mother."

"You did what?"

"She's a lovely woman. Very forthcoming." Anna's eyes were flashing. "A trait I wish she'd passed on."

"If she is more free with her words, it's because she has less to lose by them."

"And less to gain, too."

"What did she tell you?"

"That your wife was the thief, and that you confessed to the crime out of guilt because … because it wasn't a very happy marriage."

Well, that was an understatement. "True enough, as far as it goes." His anger was fading in the face of her tremendous courage. He couldn't remember a single other person in his life who would have done for him what she had. "But Anna, you should have spoken to me before you did that."

"And have you tell me not to? Have you remind me again how foolish I am? I don't think so." Her little chin went up, and God, but he did admire her strength. She had faced up to his anger without flinching, and she had uncovered a truth he'd thought long buried. "You may think whether you stay at Downton Abbey or not only affects you, Mr. Bates, but you're entirely wrong on that score. And I'm not the only one who will be relieved to see this situation safely in the past." She put her hand on his arm. "You have friends, whatever you may think of us. And we don't give up without a fight."

Turning on her heel, she marched back into the house, her back very straight, and he watched her with admiration. What a remarkable woman.


	25. Very Keen Indeed

_Thanks for reading, all! I have quite a few chapters set in the two-year gap between seasons, but I'm happy to add more if there's a scene you particularly want to see._

* * *

_August 1914_

It was a beautiful day for the garden party, warm and sunny. Bates was rather at loose ends—he couldn't carry trays or serve, but he felt uncomfortable just staying in the house, as well. Of course, his comparative leisure meant he could watch Anna as she moved back and forth among the guests. She caught him at it, too, as she came back to the tent with a tray full of empty dishes.

"I didn't know a garden party was a spectator sport."

"Pretty, though, isn't it? Hard to believe the clouds are gathering, on a summer's day like this."

He meant the war, but Anna appeared to take it differently. She came a bit closer. "Mr. Bates. I know you think I was wrong to call on your mother."

Shaking his head, he said, "I don't think that." His initial anger—born of embarrassment and hurt pride more than anything else—had cooled. The effusive letter from his mother that had followed Anna's visit had been filled with all the things he had always wanted to say to his mother about Anna and never felt he could. His mother's reaction to her had made him admire and respect Anna more than he had before, if such a thing was possible. "She likes you, by the way." What an understatement that was.

Anna smiled a little. "I had to find out the truth."

"But you see, you don't know the whole truth, not even now." How could she? She hadn't been there for the shouting, and the fights, and the breaking things, and the words they hurled at each other. She hadn't been there to see him falling into a bottle every night. He had owed Vera every day of those two years in prison and more, for the kind of husband he had turned out to be. "You know my mother's truth."

Anna caught on quickly. "But not your wife's." When he couldn't answer, she asked him, "Where is she now?"

"I couldn't tell you." Truthfully, he hadn't tried to find out, either. Life was better when Vera wasn't around.

It wasn't the answer she'd wanted, that was plain to see. "I'd better get back." She walked off, her back straight and proud. He knew her well enough to know that the next time he saw her she would be her usual self—she wasn't one to let things get her down for long.

He was watching her, admiring her, when Mr. Moseley came up to him. Bates had slouched a bit in his conversation with Anna, to put his face a bit closer to hers and reduce the chance of their being overheard. Now he straightened. "You're here, Mr. Molesley? I didn't know that."

"Just helping out." Mr. Molesley's gaze followed Bates's. "Nice girl, that Anna. Do you know if she's got anyone special in her life?"

Bates could have lied, but if Mr. Molesley ever asked Anna herself he'd get the truth. Or, at least, that's what he told himself. "I'd like to say she hasn't. I would, truly, but I'm afraid there is someone, yes."

"Do you think he's keen on her, or is it worth a go?"

Here was his chance if he'd ever had one, to push a good man on Anna, someone who could care for her the way she deserved to be, with openness and a future and promises. "Well … He keeps himself to himself. He's very hard to read at times, but …" He found that he couldn't lie. His feelings for her wouldn't be denied. "I'd say he's keen. I'd say he's very keen indeed."


	26. An Option

_Short as it is, this was the first scene I wanted to do. I watched the end of series 1, and couldn't stop wondering what Bates would say to her about Mr. Molesley. Thanks to all of you for reading, and thanks to Mishka67 for some good ideas. We definitely need more Mr. Molesley!_

* * *

_August 1914_

The Sunday after the garden party, Anna walked back from church with Mr. Bates. They were unusually silent. Anna couldn't get his words out of her head. He didn't know where his wife was, which meant he couldn't get a divorce. Not that Anna had expected him to, not exactly, but she had hoped there was a chance. She wanted to get past it, shrug it off with her usual cheerfulness. Somehow she couldn't seem to, though, not even to enjoy this walk, which was usually her favorite time of the week. Occasionally as they walked home from church, if they lagged far enough behind the others not to be seen, she would tuck her hand into the crook of his elbow. Most often when she did that, he'd shift his arm so her hand slipped out again, but every once in a while he would leave it there, tightening his arm against his body to hold her hand closer, and he'd get that little half-smile that told Anna he thought she was right where she belonged.

She tried to think of that half-smile now, but his face was as somber as she felt. Ducking her head, Anna cast about for something, anything to say, but Mr. Bates beat her to it.

"Do you know much about Mr. Molesley?"

"Not really. He seems nice enough. Why do you ask?"

He glanced at her sideways. "At the garden party, he was asking about you."

"Asking what about me, exactly?"

"He asked me if you had anyone special in your life."

She stopped short. "He didn't."

"Yes, he did."

"What did you tell him?" Knowing Mr. Bates, it could be anything on the spectrum. She rather expected he would have told Mr. Molesley she didn't, just to give her an option other than himself.

But his eyes were warm on hers. "I know what you're thinking."

"Am I right?"

"No. I told him that while I'd like to say there isn't someone, there is."

Anna's heart fluttered. "Did you tell him who it was?"

"No."

"So why are you bringing it up now?"

He was stooping slightly to look into her eyes, that earnest look on his face. "Because I thought you ought to know. That you—could do better."

"Do you really think Mr. Molesley is a better man than you are?"

"He'd have to be."

"He couldn't possibly be." Anna shook her head. "When will you stop selling yourself short?"

"Anna, you deserve someone who could give you all the things I never can."

"I think that's for me to decide, don't you?" she snapped.

Mr. Bates gave a great sigh. "I suppose."

They started walking again. "So what did he say, when you told him?"

"He asked me if the fellow was keen on you, or if it was worth trying to cut him out."

"And?"

There was that half-smile, the warmth in his eyes. "What do you think?"

Suddenly the weight seemed to lift from Anna's shoulders, and she could breathe again. Now she did tuck her hand in the crook of his arm—right where it belonged.


	27. To Go to War

_My apologies for missing yesterday's scheduled update! Thanks to all of you for reading - I appreciate it!_

* * *

_November 1914_

The house was somber tonight. Upstairs they were tense and unhappy because Mr. Matthew Crawley had left to join the army. Downstairs they were going to miss him, as well. Mr. Matthew always had a kind word and a smile for the servants.

They were a quiet lot down here now. Thomas had gone early on, and Mr. Carson hadn't seen any point in hiring on another footman. William's workload was a lot heavier, and that seemed to satisfy him for now, but Anna knew they were all dreading the day he would decide to go to war. His father had asked him not to go, and she hoped William would listen.

Anna was darning socks in her usual seat, between Mr. Bates, who was reading—poetry again, the work of an Irish poet, W. B. Yeats—and Tess, the new maid, who was slowly and labouriously writing a letter. O'Brien sat on the other side of the table sewing a ripped sleeve.

Tess threw down her pen, sighing. "I can't seem to know what to say." She crumpled up the paper, then smoothed it back out again, rereading her words with a little frown. "Mr. Bates?"

"Hm?" His eyes were still on the book, lost in the poem. Anna hoped later he would read some aloud; he often did, if O'Brien went to bed.

"What is it like to go to war?"

The room stilled. If anyone else had asked, Anna didn't think Mr. Bates would have answered, but Tess's young man was in France. Slowly, he marked his place and closed the book. "Are you sure you want to know?"

Tess swallowed. "Yes, sir."

"There's no easy answer; it's different to every man. And I imagine every war has its own peculiarities." Under the table, his bad leg shifted restlessly.

O'Brien looked up at him, but she kept quiet. She had been much less abrasive since Thomas left, which was a relief.

"Then … tell me something. Anything. I don't know what to write to him about because I can't seem to see him there."

Mr. Bates nodded. "There's a lot of dirt. You can't bathe often, you can't shave properly, you wear the same clothes for days at a time, at least, when you're in battle. In a resting camp, there's more time for those things." His eyes were faraway, seeing Africa, Anna imagined. She wondered what Africa looked like. "Where I was, there were mosquitoes, and the heat was almost unbearable. France won't be like that, though. I imagine it will be cold, instead. And when it rains, there's nowhere to go. Just tents, and everything in them gets wet, and then it mildews." He looked at Tess. "Does that help?"

"A little. Thank you, Mr. Bates." There were tears in the maid's eyes, but she blinked them away, taking up her pen and going back to her letter with a renewed determination.

A wave of emotion rushed over Anna, and she hastily tucked the darning away, needing to escape the confines of the suddenly narrow room. "Good-night, everyone."

Mr. Bates looked at her in surprise as she hurried past him. Instead of going upstairs, she went outside to look up at the stars and clear her head. As she might have expected, he joined her a few minutes later. "Are you all right?"

"Yes. Just being silly."

"About what?"

"Because … Because I'm so glad you can't go to war." The words rushed out of her. "And I feel terrible for being so relieved when all these women are staying behind, not knowing where their men are or what they're doing, and here I am being so selfish."

There was no response for a long time, and she turned around to look at him. His face was turned up to the stars, his eyes miles away.

"Aren't you relieved, not to have to go to war again?"

Mr. Bates gave a brief, bitter chuckle. "No man likes to think he's of no use to his country in times like these, Anna. Just ask Lord Grantham." He looked down at her, and she suddenly felt the difference in their ages, which usually seemed so unimportant.

"So you would want to go, if you could?"

"I wouldn't want to, exactly, but I would feel better to be able to do something. Even Thomas has gone to be useful." He sighed.

Anna bit her lip. "I hadn't thought of it like that."

"I can't imagine why you would have." His voice was forgiving, but she hated to think she had caused him pain. "Anna, there are horrors to be seen in war you can't begin to picture unless you've been there. I am a little relieved, yes, not to have to watch more young men die. I saw enough of that in Africa. And I know enough to know that one more gun in the hands of an old soldier wouldn't make a difference in the course of the war … but it certainly does remind a man of his limitations."

He left her there, then, limping back into the house. Anna stayed outside, looking up at the stars, sad that she had made him unhappy, sorry that Tess and so many women like her had to say good-bye to the men they loved, and, God help her, still glad that Mr. Bates couldn't go.


	28. Dancing

_Thanks for reading, all! You make my day!_

* * *

_December 1914_

The servants' ball this year was a pale shadow of what it usually was. With so many young men already gone, it was left to William, Mr. Carson, Mr. Branson, and Mr. Molesley to dance with all the ladies. Bates was, of course, sidelined by his bad leg. He stood to the side and watched the festivities, chatting with whoever came by to say hello. It was rarely Anna; she was a good dancer and really seemed to like it, so the men kept her on the floor.

Bates didn't mind; he liked watching her enjoy herself, and he told himself it didn't bother him that he didn't have the chance to hold her in his arms and whirl her around the room. He hadn't been a particularly graceful dancer even when he'd had two good legs. He preferred the excuse to the prospect of disappointing her by not being very good at it.

Mr. Carson clearly enjoyed the exertion and the attention, as well as the chance to unbend a little. The butler had a deep affection for most of the people who worked for him, but more often than not was constrained not to show it. This was a rare occasion when he could smile on his subordinates like an equal, if only for a short time.

William had eyes only for Daisy. He liked dancing, and for that reason was happy to dance with Anna a few times, but half the time the lad's head was turned looking for the little maid. Daisy didn't give two pins for William—that much was obvious enough to everyone but the boy. Bates had tried to talk to him about the situation, but William, for all his youth and innocence, was a proud and stubborn man. He would have to make his own mistakes, and would no doubt be the better for them.

Branson, now. Bates rather liked Branson—the chauffeur had a fire to do something with his life, to make the world different for his having been in it. While Bates imagined that fire would be tempered by time, he liked to see it in a man of Branson's age. He wondered what Branson and Anna were talking about. She laughed with the chauffeur so naturally; Bates would have felt a pang of jealousy if he didn't know that poor Branson was as head over heels in love with Lady Sybil as William was with Daisy … and with just as little chance for happiness. As long as the Countess lived, Bates couldn't imagine Lady Sybil actually escaping her family to be with an Irish chauffeur. And that was if she wanted to. Lady Sybil was young yet; she had a lot of growing up to do before she knew what she wanted.

He considered that point. Because Anna was young, too, and while he thought she was throwing her life away by caring for him, he had never thought her too young to know what she wanted. But then, there was a vast difference between a sheltered young noblewoman and a girl who had had to make her own way through the servants' halls, working hard to earn her own wages. And Anna was extraordinarily self-possessed, even for a working woman. Once she had set her eyes on him, Bates had seen little indication that she had ever wavered. Occasionally, he thought with a small, secret smile, he felt a bit like a fox running from a hound. A happier fox than the poor animals usually were, granted. He couldn't deny that it was flattering to be pursued by such a woman, even if he had no earthly idea what she saw in him when she could have so much more than a broken-down old soldier who would never be free to marry her.

She was dancing with Molesley again, listening attentively to whatever he was saying. Remembering their conversation at the garden party, Bates had to remind himself that Anna had no interest in Molesley; part of Bates felt sad about that. It would have made him feel as though he had done something for her to have been able to point her to another man, to say "there, now, go and be happy" and mean it. But Molesley … Molesley wasn't for Anna, either. And it would have torn his heart out to have to push her toward anyone else; the very thought of having to see her in love with someone other than himself made it hard to breathe.

Anna caught his eye over Molesley's shoulder and gave him a wink. Bates couldn't help but stand a little straighter at the thought that she sought him out even though she was dancing with another man who thought the sun rose and set in her. Poor Molesley, he probably didn't deserve to be attracted to a woman who had already given her heart away.

Anna was begging off the next dance. It looked as though she was pleading sore feet, but she moved lightly enough as she came toward him.

"You look like you were having fun."

"I was. I love to dance, and there's never enough reason to." She glanced back over her shoulder at the dance floor. "Can't be much fun for you, though."

"Just being in the same room with you is better than anywhere I'd been in a long time before I came to Downton."

Her eyes shone as she looked up at him. "I could say the same about you."

It wasn't as good as being able to take her in his arms and dance with her … but it came close.


	29. Mr Molesley

_Poor Mr. Molesley. Thanks for reading!_

* * *

_February 1915_

The servants' hall was quiet today—several of the maids were down with a cold that had been making the rounds of the village, and William had been out of commission with it for a couple of days already. Mr. Carson was being run ragged by the difficulties of running a house with no footmen. Mr. Bates was only a little help, given his knee.

Anna was darning one of Lady Edith's stockings when Mr. Molesley looked in.

"Ah, hello, Anna."

"Hello, Mr. Molesley." She smiled at him, remembering what Mr. Bates had said. She couldn't help thinking of it when she saw Mr. Molesley, wondering if he was still interested in her and hoping he wasn't. He seemed a nice enough fellow, but he wasn't for her. There was only one man for her; whatever else Anna's future might hold, that she knew for certain. "Come to help with the dinner?"

"Yes. Mrs. Patmore stopped by to see Mrs. Bird and said Mr. Carson was at his wits' end, so I came to see what I could do."

"I know he'll appreciate that. It's very kind of you."

Mr. Molesley smiled, ducking his head a bit in the shy way he had.

"Funny to think of Mrs. Patmore and Mrs. Bird being such great friends now," Anna went on, wanting to spare him further embarrassment. "I wouldn't have imagined that last summer."

"Nor would I." He hesitated, turning his hat nervously around in his hands, then said, "Hard to tell who's the generalissimo now, isn't it?"

"Oh, I'd still give Mrs. Patmore the nod," Anna said. "More practice."

"You may have something there." He chuckled, and Anna smiled with him.

Mr. Bates came into the room then, stopping short when he saw them there smiling at each other. Anna felt surprisingly uncomfortable with the situation; she couldn't help thinking about what Mr. Molesley had said to Mr. Bates, and what Mr. Bates had—and hadn't—said to Mr. Molesley in return. She could tell Mr. Bates was thinking about it, too.

"Good evening, Anna," he said, almost pointedly.

"Good evening, Mr. Bates. Mr. Molesley has come up to help with the dinner."

There was a moment's silence before Mr. Bates collected himself and turned to the other man. "Oh, have you, Mr. Molesley? That's very nice."

"Yes, well …" Mr. Molesley looked between Mr. Bates and Anna, frowning a little. Then he cleared his throat. "I'd best go find Mr. Carson." With nods for both of them, he turned and left the room.

Anna waited, wondering what Mr. Bates would say to her. He turned away, but not before she could see the flush that spread up his cheeks and out to the tips of his ears. As he limped down the hall, Anna turned back to her darning, glad no one could see the smile that spread irrepressibly over her face. Perhaps it wasn't ladylike to be pleased at Mr. Bates's obvious jealousy … but as she'd said many a time before, she wasn't a lady and didn't pretend to be one.


	30. I Wish, Too

_I know there's some discussion of whether Anna's mother is supposed to be alive or dead. For the purposes of this story, I've chosen to believe she's alive - it's a lot more fun that way. Thanks for reading! I really appreciate it._

* * *

_March 1915_

Bates was carefully cleaning and brushing a hat over a clean piece of newspaper when Anna came hurrying in, taking her seat next to him.

"I only have a few minutes, but this letter has been burning a hole in my pocket all morning," she said, taking out a small envelope and slitting it open with a hairpin.

From the handwriting, it looked to be from her mother, and Bates smiled a little bit, wondering what that feisty woman had to say today. Anna's mum had strong opinions on a lot of topics, and was never shy about sharing them with her daughter. If she knew anything about Anna's feelings for him, Bates had never been told about it. He wondered what her reaction would be if she knew.

He leaned over slightly, asking, "What does she say?"

Anna was staring at the paper, her fingers trembling slightly. She glanced at him, briefly, and shoved the letter in her apron pocket without refolding it. "Nothing," she muttered. "Oh, look at the time!" And she was off without a backward glance.

Bates was left with a chill down his spine. Her eyes, usually so open, had been hooded and closed off for the split second she had looked at him.

"Got your nose slapped, did you?" O'Brien remarked. She kept her eyes on her knitting and her face composed; smirking had been Thomas's signature.

Before he could tell her to shut up, or worse, Bates hastily gathered up the hat and other supplies. It didn't do to antagonize O'Brien, no matter how much she deserved it. She always made you pay, sooner or later. And what did he care what she thought? It was Anna's strange distance that concerned him.

It continued to concern him all day; she looked down at the floor anytime he passed her, spent her time at dinner talking to Tess, the second housemaid, and wasn't at the table later that evening when they all gathered around to relax before bed.

She must be outside. It was really still too cold for it, but it was the only place left to look. The loss of her smiles and her friendship just for one day had been devastating; Bates couldn't let it continue overnight or he'd go mad. He limped out to their usual spot, finding her there huddled on a packing crate, staring off into space.

"You shouldn't be out here. You'll freeze." She didn't appear to have heard him, and he moved closer. "Anna?"

Now she looked up at him, meeting his eyes for the first time all day. "Why can't you find your wife?"

"What?" he whispered, taking a step backward. He hadn't expected that, not at all.

"Why can't you find her?" she repeated, her voice rising slightly. "It's like you don't even want to get a divorce."

"It's a complicated situation, Anna."

"Then explain it to me, Mr. Bates." She was on her feet now. "I need to know."

To tell her that, he'd have to explain about Vera. To explain about Vera, he'd have to explain about himself in far more detail than he had before. He didn't want to have to see the look on Anna's face when he told her what kind of marriage he'd had before, or see her wondering if that's what he would eventually be like with her, if by some miracle he was ever free to marry her. Instead he asked, "What's brought this on?"

She held up a crumpled piece of paper in one work- and cold-reddened hand. It was the letter from her mother. "My cousin is getting married. My much younger cousin. Meanwhile I've been waiting for three years and you won't even say—" She broke off, taking a deep breath to calm herself and blinking the shine of tears out of her eyes, and turned away from him. "I'm sorry. You've never promised me anything … and I got my hopes up … and then this letter." Anna shook her head. "I'm sorry; I'll be fine tomorrow."

"Anna." He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her around to look at him. "If I thought finding her would do any good, I would have done so already. She is the kind of woman who would hold on tighter if she knew I wanted … someone else. I really am not free—and I'm not going to be."

Her face was crumpling the way the paper had earlier, and she nodded, biting her lip. "I know; your mother's said something like that, as well, in her letters. I just—wish—"

She was trembling, from cold and emotion, and Bates couldn't help it. He pulled her against him, putting his arms around her. "I know." He shouldn't encourage her, he told himself. He really shouldn't. But— "I wish, too."


	31. Spring

_Thank you for reading!_

* * *

_April 1915_

It seemed as though spring would never come. The weather continued cold and grey and rainy—even more so than usual—and none of the spring growth seemed even to have begun yet. Anna walked back from her half-day in the village briskly. There was really nothing to look at. There was nothing much to hurry toward, either. Life at Downton continued to be about as lively as the weather. The young ladies worried about Mr. Matthew, particularly Lady Mary, although you would have to have known her as long and as well as Anna had to see it. They were restless, with little to do and few people to see. The war had curtailed so many of their usual activities.

Belowstairs they picked up on the anxieties and unhappiness of the Crawleys, and had had an additional blow recently when a letter arrived for Tess from her young man's parents, letting her know he had been shot in France and died in a field hospital. Tess had given notice immediately, to go home and give some comfort to her his family. Her replacement would be arriving in a couple of days. Mrs. Hughes seemed pleased with the new girl's references; Anna hoped she would be a hard worker, at least.

Her steps were slowing as she approached Downton's grounds. She didn't want to go in there, to the sadness and gloom that seemed to infect them all. But she didn't want to stay out here, either, in the chill, with raindrops falling from the leaves above her head as the wind rustled them.

Then she saw a familiar figure stooping down by the edge of the path. He seemed to be reaching for something he had dropped, and Anna hurried up to go help him. "Mr. Bates!"

He hadn't seen her coming, clearly, and he startled when she called to him, nearly overbalancing, but he caught himself. When he stood up, there was something clutched in his gloved hand. Anna couldn't tell what it was.

"I was going to help you with that."

"I managed just fine." They stood there for a moment.

"It's not your half-day, is it?"

"No, His Lordship wanted me to pick something up for him in the village. Actually, he suggested William should go, but William was busy enough that I said I'd go instead. And here we are." He smiled.

"I was just coming back—I left some … things soaking." Anna blushed, and Mr. Bates chuckled. It was clear that he understood what type of things she'd been washing out. "That's silly, isn't it?"

"Possibly." There was a warmth in his eyes that lit something deep inside Anna. Was he thinking about her in her underthings? He looked as though that's what he was thinking of. He cleared his throat, changing the subject. "You look cold."

"I am. I thought it would be warmer out, so I wore a lighter coat. Doesn't it seem as though spring is never coming this year?"

He shook his head. "No. Not to me. I have spring all year 'round." Anna must have looked as puzzled as she felt, because he went on, leaning closer to her, his voice deepening. "To me, you are spring. It's bright, and warm, and cheerful, and occasionally it's threatened by chills and rain, but it always manages to hold out to become summer." He held out his hand so that she could see what was in it—a small but perfectly formed red tulip. "This is for you. I saw it along the path, and thought of you."

"Mr. Bates." Anna took the tulip, touched by the words and the gesture. She took a step closer and looked up into his eyes. "I love you."

She thought he would respond as he usually did on the rare occasions she said those words, with a sigh, or a shake of the head. But this time, he smiled. "I love you, too, Anna. I can't deny it any longer." And slowly, very slowly, Anna stretched up to him and he leaned down to her and their lips met, soft and sweet. It was only a brief touch, but to Anna, it was as if spring had burst full-blown from winter.


	32. About Anna

_Thank you for reading! _

* * *

_May 1915_

Bates took the change from the storekeeper, tucking his parcel under his arm, and turned to leave the store, but stopped short when he found Mr. Molesley standing before him. "Good afternoon."

"Good afternoon, Mr. Bates." Molesley was turning his hat around and around in his hands in the way he had. "Going back to Downton?"

"Yes."

"Mind if I walk with you?"

"Not at all."

They left the store together, walking slowly along, Molesley matching his steps to Bates's pace. It had been a long time since they'd spent any real amount of time together—not since before the African war, when they'd been footmen together. Molesley had been the one with the bright future then. Bates had been more impulsive, more prone to let his temper get the best of him, always fighting against the constraints of his place in service. He'd leapt at the chance to go to war … and come home not changed enough. Bates pulled his mind sharply away from memories of his time with Vera. She was his past now, or as much so as she was ever likely to be.

Molesley cleared his throat. "Mr. Bates?"

"Is there something on your mind, Mr. Molesley?"

"A while back, I asked you about … about Anna."

Bates could feel something inside him go still. Anna had no special feelings for this man next to him; he himself wasn't free to be with Anna, anyway—so why was it that any hint of Molesley's continued interest in her made him feel so threatened? Perhaps because Molesley could offer her all the things he couldn't, or because deep down he knew Molesley deserved a woman like Anna and he himself deserved … nothing.

"Yes," he said hoarsely in response to Molesley's comment.

"You told me there was someone. Is—is it you?"

So it had come to this, had it? Bates was sure there was speculation about himself and Anna in the servants' hall, but no one had yet come to him and asked the blunt question. He wanted to shout it from the rooftops—but he and Anna had never spoken about what they should say if asked, and always in the back of his mind was the question of what people would think of her if they knew she begun an involvement, no matter how sweetly or beautifully or innocently, with a married man. "What makes you think so?" he asked.

Molesley stopped his fidgeting and lifted his head with a sudden dignity, looking directly at Bates. "Don't be coy, Mr. Bates. It's beneath you."

"You're right. I apologize—it was Anna I was thinking of. I don't know if she'd want me to say…"

"I've seen her looking at you. I don't think Anna would mind if you said the sky was brown."

Bates felt a warmth filling his chest at the idea that her regard for him was so obvious. He shouldn't be pleased, he told himself, but he was, for all that. "So if you know, why are you asking?"

"Because I know about your circumstances. Your … your wife. Does Anna?" Molesley swallowed, clearly uncomfortable with the conversation, but determined to have it all the same.

"She does. I told her long ago. This—this wasn't my idea. But she— I—" He didn't know how to finish the sentence.

Molesley nodded. "I just wanted to say—I hope it works out for both of you."

"Thank you."

"And that Anna is a very special person. I would not want to see her hurt."

"Nor would I."

They stood looking at one another for a long moment. Then Molesley bobbed a nervous nod and turned, walking straight-shouldered back to the village, leaving Bates watching after him.

* * *

_A/N: The backstory of Bates/Molesley having been footmen together comes from an unfilmed scene in the Series 1 script book, and I think adds a lot of depth to this particular situation._


	33. Mrs Hughes

_I love Mrs. Hughes, and always wondered how this conversation must have gone. Thank you for reading!_

* * *

_June 1915_

After dinner, Anna knocked on the door of Mrs. Hughes' sitting room, as she had been directed to by the housekeeper earlier in the day.

"Come in, Anna."

"You wanted to see me, Mrs. Hughes?"

"Yes. Would you like some tea?" The housekeeper didn't wait for Anna's assent before she began pouring. She pointed Anna to a chair.

Accepting the teacup, Anna took her seat, wondering what she had been called in here for. She didn't think she'd done anything wrong, and she couldn't imagine there was any reason for a promotion. Even if O'Brien left for some reason, Lady Grantham wouldn't be likely to choose Anna as a replacement.

"Now." Mrs. Hughes took the other seat. She set her own teacup on the table between them. "I wanted to talk to you about the situation between you and Mr. Bates."

Anna nearly dropped the cup, and hastily put it on the table to avoid spilling. The last thing she needed was a tea stain on her apron. "The situation?" she echoed weakly.

Mrs. Hughes nodded. "You're a good girl, Anna, so if you tell me there's nothing improper going on that I need to worry about, I'll believe you."

"There isn't. Mr. Bates and I—we're both very happy here at Downton. We wouldn't want to do anything to jeopardize that."

"Good. That's the end of it then." Anna began to relax and was about to ask if she could be dismissed when the housekeeper added, "Officially."

"Officially?"

"Well, you know, romance does happen between servants, and since you and Mr. Bates are honourable people, in my capacity as housekeeper I have some leeway to overlook such things, as long as you make sure you are not caught in a … compromising position."

Anna hastily assured her, "Oh, we wouldn't be." If only the housekeeper knew how little chance there was of that. Not that Anna was complaining, exactly, but …

"Unofficially," Mrs. Hughes continued, before Anna could follow that line of thought any further, "I wanted to talk to you, Anna."

"To me?"

"Yes. To make sure that you understand what you are getting yourself into. You know as well as I do that Mr. Bates is married."

Anna nodded.

"And my impression is that there is every likelihood he will stay that way."

"Yes."

"You know all that and yet you have entered into a relationship with him. It concerns me, Anna. It concerns me very much."

"What about it concerns you?" Anna took a deep, fortifying swallow of her tea. She had always respected Mrs. Hughes; before Mr. Bates had come into the picture, she had considered that she might one day follow in Mrs. Hughes' footsteps and become a housekeeper.

"I hate to see you throw your future away on a man who has none."

Anna sighed. She tried to find words to explain her position. It was difficult, because no one had ever asked her to before. "I don't see that my future is any different than it was before, not really. I do my work here the same as I always did, and I hope to please you and Mr. Carson, and the family, by doing it well, and retain my position and possibly advance someday. Just … now while I do it, it's in the company of someone I … care for." She wasn't used to talking about this. When Gwen, whom she had been close to, had lived here it was mostly all too new, and she hadn't grown close enough to the other maids to talk with them about private things. Besides which, none of them were as interesting as Mr. Bates. She'd rather spend time talking with him than spend time with someone else talking about him. She hadn't even written her mother, because then there would be questions and criticisms and demands, and it was easier to go without all those.

"Just when did all of this start, Anna?" Mrs. Hughes was watching her with an unusual softness in her eyes.

"I don't even know, not really. I knew from the start that I liked him, and we enjoyed spending time with each other, and he understands me, do you know what I mean?"

"I suppose I do."

"And the more I saw of him, the better I liked him. I can't really say when it wasn't 'liking' anymore, but … loving."

Mrs. Hughes watched her for a moment, her face softening at Anna's last word, then reached for her teacup and took a sip of her tea. "I see. And how long are you willing to wait for him?"

"It isn't that way, Mrs. Hughes. I'm not—I'm not waiting for anything. He's never promised me that he'd be free to marry me. In fact, he's always said I should think of someone else instead, that he wasn't free and wasn't going to be, but I couldn't. There isn't anyone else I want to think of; there never has been." The words tumbled out of Anna in a rush. She didn't want the housekeeper to see her as the type of woman who tried to break up someone else's marriage.

There was kindness in Mrs. Hughes' eyes. "So you are happy enough with the present that it doesn't bother you not to have a future?"

"Something like that."

"Well, Anna, you certainly seem to think you know what you're about, and as I said before, we trust you. If anything changes, I hope you will feel free to come to me about it."

"Of course. Thank you very much, Mrs. Hughes."

As the talk turned to other things, Anna couldn't help but feel a certain sense of relief. She had wondered if Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson knew, and had worried a bit that she and Mr. Bates might be risking the censure of the housekeeper and the butler. It was nice to know that they hadn't done so, and that they were trusted not to disrupt the house with their relationship. She pretended not to see the concern on the housekeeper's face while they finished their tea.


	34. Passion

_Thank you all for reading! _

* * *

_July 1915_

Some nights, it was difficult to keep his eyes on his work and his attention off the woman who sat next to him. Bates could feel the warmth from her body all along his side; if he shifted his leg just so, it would brush her skirt. As she bent over her sewing, he could see the curve of her neck, the soft skin there, and the shell of her ear. And while he tried to keep himself from imagining things that could never be, he was still a man, and he knew what it was like to love a woman with his body, even as Anna was teaching him what it was to love one with his heart.

Resolutely he turned back to the collar he was scrubbing. The plain domesticity of the work should have turned his thoughts away from thoughts of Anna and memories of that brief kiss in the springtime … but it didn't. He still remembered how her eyes had closed, how her lips had parted in a little gasp when the kiss was over, how her eyes had darkened to a deep, rich blue. God help him, he wanted to kiss her again, to thread his fingers in her hair and tilt her head back and kiss her until she couldn't stand up straight. To lay her back on the nearest flat surface and—Vera's face flashed in his mind, her dark wicked eyes half-closed with pleasure, her strong white teeth clenched on her lower lip, her husky voice calling his name, and he nearly threw the collar across the room. How could he think of her at a time like this? They had shared passion, yes, that much was undeniable, but it had been passion born of anger and strife. It wouldn't be that way with Anna. He wouldn't let it. If he ever had the chance to … touch Anna, he would do it gently, showing her his love with every stroke of his fingers, every touch of his tongue to her skin.

His eyes turned to her again, admiring the shining gold of her hair. He imagined it loose, flowing down her back; sliding across his chest as she moved— Abruptly he pushed his chair back and stood up. Anna looked up at him, startled, and he made an effort to smile in reassurance before hastily leaving the room.

Outside, he gazed upward into the cloudy sky, wondering again how he had been led into such a hopeless romance. He had never intended to fall in love; his circumstances should have precluded such a thing. But there she had been with her smiles and her understanding eyes. He had been drawn to her from the first, recognizing something in her that called to him. Once he had realized that the same something belonged with him—to him—it had been too late. And while most days he could look at her and see his friend, the keeper of his heart, days like today all he could see was the most beautiful, desirable woman he had ever met ... and the one farthest from his touch.

After a few minutes Bates composed himself, returning to the house. He avoided Anna for the rest of the day, but he still couldn't get the image of her golden hair spread all over him out of his mind.

* * *

_A/N: While I intend to be faithful to canon as far as their physical relationship goes, it's so obvious that they have a passion for one another, and I have to think Bates, with his greater experience, would suffer from that, at least occasionally.  
_


	35. Their Mothers

_I'm back! Sorry for the missed week - we were moving, and without internet for most of the week. The horror! The schedule should go forth unbroken from here, though._

* * *

_October 1915_

The arrival of the mail was always an event. The servants looked forward to news from their families, or the chance to hear from old friends, or a newspaper from their homes, in the case of those who had grown up far from Downton. Today the bundle held a letter for Anna from her mother, and a letter for Mr. Bates from his. Both women were feisty and strongly opinionated, and by mutual accord Anna and Bates saved their letters for tea time, when they could steal a few minutes alone in the courtyard while enjoying the autumn sunshine. Winter would close them in before they knew it.

Anna was already outside when Mr. Bates managed to escape the house. He sank onto his crate with a sigh, stretching out his leg. Anna glanced at him in concern. "Is it getting worse?"

"No. It isn't getting better, either."

When he was short with her that way, she knew to leave it alone. He bore the pain as well as any man could—better than most, certainly—but he wasn't immune to it. Anna let him be while he closed his eyes and leaned against the wall. After a few moments, his eyes opened again and sought Anna's. "I'm sorry."

"You needn't be. It was a silly question."

Mr. Bates shrugged. "It could get better one day. It didn't always bother me the way it does now—just as the shrapnel shifted to make it worse, it could shift again someday to make it better."

"Do you think it will?"

"I don't know."

"Have you thought to consult Dr. Clarkson about it?"

He shook his head. "No. The regimental surgeon looked at it long ago and told me there's no chance of getting the shrapnel out without destroying the knee entirely. Can you imagine me more lame than I am?" he asked bitterly.

Quietly, Anna ventured, "It wouldn't matter to me, you know that."

Mr. Bates looked at her, their eyes meeting and holding for a few minutes. Anna tried to put everything she felt for him into hers, and his softened under the onslaught of her emotions. "You're sweet to say so."

A tart response hovered on her lips, but there was no point in it. She hadn't been able to convince him of the enduring strength of her love for him yet; there was little chance another comment would do so. Instead, she took her letter from the envelope. "Shall I start?"

"Please." Mr. Bates smiled at the prospect.

_Dear Anna,_

_ I hope all continues to be well for you at Downton. Have they made you housekeeper yet? Tell that Mrs. Hughes of yours if she gets tired of her place, you'll be happy to take it on for her._

They both smiled at the idea of Mrs. Hughes' reaction to that comment.

"Why does she think you want to be a housekeeper?" he asked.

"I don't know. It's her idea of real advancement. At least she's stopped asking me when I plan to be married." The word hung between them, and Anna blushed, bending her head over the letter again.

_Things are quiet here. Your father works as hard as always, which is a good thing, because I don't think I could bear to have him underfoot all day. The neighbors' boy just got called up, and she's carrying on like he's going to save England single-handed. How he'll do that, I can't imagine, since as you know, the lad has a hard time finding his breakfast without getting lost on the way. I remember the days when I thought the two of you might grow up to make a match of it, but I suppose it's all for the best now. At least you haven't a young man at war you have to cry yourself to sleep over._

Anna couldn't look up, sure that her cheeks were absolutely flaming red now. Mr. Bates knew she'd never written her mother about her feelings for him—Anna would never hear the end of it, if she did—but being twitted about her unattached state like this, in front of him, was almost too much to bear.

_Time to get this into the post and get a good start on my day. Make sure you eat well and bundle up warm, and write to me soon._

_ Love, Mum_

"Now yours," Anna said quickly, before he could comment on her mother's words.

"Very well." He took his letter from his coat pocket, slitting it open and removing the sheet.

_Dear John,_

_Looks like another winter's coming on. At my age, you always have to wonder which one will be your last. I don't intend to go any time soon, but if I do, I want you to know I've put some savings by for you, in addition to the house. I hope you'll use them wisely._

Mr. Bates looked at her over the top of the letter. "Cheerful, isn't she?"

"Practical, I would say." Anna reached for his hand, feeling his fingers close warmly around hers. "She just wants to make sure you're taken care of."

"She needn't. I'm a grown man."

"But she loves you—and who else does she have to care for?"

He let that one go, turning to the letter again without letting go of her hand.

_I hope you'll say hello to Anna for me and remind her that she owes me a letter. She always brightens my day._

Mr. Bates smiled, his thumb stroking the back of her knuckles as if to say she brightened his, too.

_News of the war makes me remember what it was like when my boy was out there, and I pray for the souls of those who are fighting today, that as many of them as can will return home to those who love them. I am thankful that you returned in one piece, at least, from your war and that at last the darkness inside you seems to have gone. You are never far from my thoughts, my son._

_ Your loving mother_

He folded the letter one-handed, his grip tightening on Anna's hand. They sat in silence for a long time, thinking of their mothers and holding on to each other.


	36. Her Heart's Desire

_Based on the obvious mutual understanding between them at the beginning of Series 2, I think this scene must have happened, and it was such fun to write. I got a little teary myself! Thanks for reading!_

* * *

_December 1915_

Christmas morning Bates awoke early, as usual. He got out of bed and dressed for the day before opening the top drawer of his bureau and taking out the small package he had for Anna. He turned it over in his hands, dissatisfied. It wasn't much; a box of her favorite chocolates, which he'd picked up the last time he went to London with Lord Grantham. He had hoped to find something better, more meaningful, but nothing had come to him.

Anna would love it, of course. She always did. Her reactions to his gifts made him feel unworthy for not being able to give her what she really wanted—his hand and his name. And ultimately, that was what had him feeling badly today, that what he wanted to give her and what he had a right to give her were so different. He'd have showered her with diamonds, if she wanted such a thing, but she didn't. Her heart's desire was so simple, and so impossible.

With a sigh he tucked the box into his pocket and left the room.

The morning went by in a bustle of work, helping the family get ready for church, and before he knew it he found himself limping carefully down the icy paths, with Anna at his side as always. He stood next to her in church, their voices blending in the hymn. Anna glanced up at him, her eyes warm and happy, and Bates was hard put to smile back at her, so strong was the clenching of his stomach. He wanted to be hers in every way possible—wanted to love her freely, to be able to offer for her hand, to take her in his arms in all the different variations of passion and tenderness he could think of. And it nearly choked him that such a thing could never be. Bates knew quite well that the surest way to keep Vera from giving him a divorce was to go seeking her out and give her the upper hand. The only way it would ever happen was if she came to him, asking for it … and that event seemed so unlikely it wasn't worth speculating about.

As Anna turned her head away from him, looking forward toward the altar, he wondered if she ever felt frustrated. She showed it so seldom—she was always just there, next to him, supporting him, believing in him, loving him. And he repaid her trust with despair, time and again.

And then it came to him. There was a gift he could give to her, one she would truly appreciate. He wouldn't wait; he would give it to her now, while the spirit was upon him.

On the way back from church, he walked even more slowly than usual, allowing all the others to pull far ahead. Usually on days when he was holding her back from her duties he would encourage her to leave him to walk by himself, but he didn't today. Anna glanced at him with curiosity. "Is your leg bothering you?"

Bates peered ahead. Yes, the others were nearly around the bend. It was as much privacy as could be expected. "No." He stopped moving, turning to look at her. "I wanted to talk to you."

"Mr. Bates, it's Christmas Day." Anna looked up at him reproachfully, and he realized with a pang of guilt that she expected him to try once more to talk her out of her regard for him.

"I know it is. And I was standing there next to you in church thinking what a gift you are in my life."

Her lips parted, a little gasp of surprise escaping her.

"I have tried to hold firm against my feelings for you. When I came to Downton, I thought that part of my life was over and I was content with that. I have nothing to offer any woman—any decent woman, that is." He held up a hand as she began to speak. "I know, you don't agree."

Anna smiled at the acknowledgment, but didn't carry her protest further, having made her point.

"When you made it clear that you had feelings for me, I thought if I could only keep from encouraging you, maybe you could turn your attention to someone more worthy, someone who had a future." He put his hands on her shoulders. "Make no mistake, Anna, whatever else is true, this is: it is very unlikely that Vera will ever give me a divorce. While I was in prison, I thought she might, but I believe she sees me as an asset to hold onto, in case she might need something from me in the future. She won't let go of that easily."

"It doesn't matter, Mr. Bates. Not really."

"It does, and we both know that it does. But Anna, through all of it, you have stood firm at my side. You've never wavered, you've never withdrawn your … your love and your trust. If it hadn't been for you, I'd have been sacked over that snuffbox."

"Mr. Carson would have seen through that."

"Maybe." Bates didn't agree, but that wasn't the point. "You've given me so much, and I've repaid you with so little."

"That's not true!" Anna began. Bates put his gloved fingers over her lips.

"It is true. I've withheld myself from you with some idea that I was saving you from me, and I am sorry for that."

She pulled his hand off her mouth. "You have nothing to apologize for."

"Yes, I do." Bates took both of her hands in his. "I want to say this, so that you will know exactly how I feel. I don't ever want you to wonder again." He looked deep into her eyes. "I love you, Anna Smith. You are the truest friend I have ever had or ever hope to."

Her eyes were very wide and very blue, shining with tears that trembled just on the edge of her lashes.

Bates's own eyes felt suspiciously wet. He drew a deep breath to steady himself, as he could feel his throat closing with the strength of his emotions, and he wanted to tell her all of it, here and now. "I want nothing more from my life than to spend the rest of it with you. I know that even in the event of my being granted a divorce, we couldn't be married in the church, and there would be people who would look down on me for being divorced in the first place. I won't be getting any younger, and my leg is likely to get worse, rather than better. With all that to consider … If ever I am free to ask, could you—would you be willing to share your life with me?"

The tears were flowing freely down her face now, and her chin was trembling violently. She was past speech. All she could do was nod, and then she stepped forward and buried her face against his waistcoat, her shoulders shaking as she wept. Bates folded himself around her, cradling her against him, not at all ashamed that his shoulders were shaking, as well.


	37. A Call for Mr Bates

_And we're off into series 2. Thanks to all of you for reading!_

* * *

_October 1916_

Anna was in the kitchen dropping off a load of dishes from luncheon when she heard the shrill of the telephone in Mr. Carson's room. All the servants exchanged glances, but there was no time to wonder who was calling, or why. They had to hurry back up to the dining room.

As she brought a tray full of serving dishes down, Mr. Carson called to her from his room. She put the tray in the kitchen and went to see what the butler wanted.

"Anna, come in. That was a call for Mr. Bates. I'm afraid his mother has been taken very ill—his presence is needed in London, urgently." The butler's sad eyes made it clear that Mr. Bates's mother was not long for this world.

She thought of the feisty old lady she'd come to know through letters over the last couple of years, and she was saddened for herself, as well as for Mr. Bates. "Does he know?"

"Not yet." Mr. Carson cleared his throat. "He is upstairs in His Lordship's dressing room. I thought it might be best if you were the one to tell him."

"Me?" It was the first indication the butler had ever given that he knew of her relationship with Mr. Bates. He'd known for some time, she was sure—everyone did—but speaking of it to her openly was quite another thing. Anna was sure Mr. Carson never would have done so had the situation not been so delicate. "Of course. May I go up now?"

"I think you should."

She bobbed a quick curtsey and hurried up the back stairs.

Mr. Bates had his lordship's tails out and was studying the coat for any wear or staining. He turned around in surprise as Anna came in, his questioning look turning to one of concern as he caught the expression on her face. "Anna? What is it?" He came toward her.

"Oh, Mr. Bates. There was a call for you on Mr. Carson's phone, from London." She reached for his free hand, taking it in both of hers. "It was about your mother. She's very ill … you'll need to go to her at once. I'm so sorry!"

He winced, closing his eyes briefly. "What type of illness, do you know?"

"Mr. Carson didn't say. He may know more—he asked me to come tell you."

Mr. Bates nodded, shifting his grip so he could squeeze her hand. "That was thoughtful of him."

"I'm so sorry. She's a lovely woman."

"Thank you, Anna." He sighed, not letting go of her hand. "I should go downstairs and speak to Mr. Carson, find out what more he knows. I'll have to go to London. I only hope I can get there in time."

"Would you like me to come with you? I could help clean up the house and just … be there."

His eyes warmed. "I would like that, very much, and I know Mother would, as well. But it wouldn't be practical. Mr. Carson would never allow it." Anna started to speak, to protest that she was sure she could convince Mr. Carson, but Mr. Bates shook his head. "And it wouldn't be wise to have you there, in case …" He let his words trail off, and she could feel the shade of his wife between them. "It's best not to."

"I wish I could do something."

"You already have." He pulled her a couple of steps closer to him on the words, uttered in a low, husky tone.

Anna used his hand to anchor herself as she raised herself on her tiptoes, her eyes closing. This time their kiss was less brief, and less gentle. His mouth pressed firmly against hers and she suddenly wished his body would do the same. Fortunately, Mr. Bates remembered that they were still in his lordship's dressing room, even if Anna didn't. He pulled away and with a last squeeze let go of her hand.

None too soon, either, because just as she stepped back Lord Grantham himself came in. "What is this?"

"Your lordship, Anna came up to give me some bad news, I'm afraid," Mr. Bates said. "My mother has been taken very ill in London; Mr. Carson got the call just a few minutes ago."

Lord Grantham's eyes moved from Bates to Anna and back again. Only long years of training kept her from lifting her hand to cover her mouth. Surely his lordship could tell. But he didn't say anything to her, looking at Mr. Bates instead. "I'm sorry to hear that, Bates."

"Thank you, my lord."

"Why don't you go downstairs and find out the details from Carson. I can handle myself for the moment."

"Thank you, sir."

Anna gratefully escaped on a nod from his lordship. She was going to be wanted in Lady Mary's room shortly, she suspect, to help her ladyship change into riding clothes. Before turning in that direction, she gave Mr. Bates's hand a parting squeeze. "You'll let me know if there's anything I can do to help?"

"Of course. Thank you, Anna."

As she moved toward the ladies' corridor, she could still feel his eyes on her.


	38. The Heart of the Matter

_And here we go! I do enjoy writing Vera._

* * *

_October 1916_

Bates turned away from the fresh-heaped earth of his mother's grave. He was glad at least that in the last several years they had repaired what had once been a very strained relationship. There had been a time in his life when he'd been a great disappointment to her, and she hadn't been hesitant to say so, frequently and quite decisively. He'd inherited his sharp tongue from her, after all. But after he'd gone to jail, she had visited him faithfully, and there had been time for them to apologize to one another for the bad times and to learn to talk without arguing. He was grateful for that, and for the years since.

As he left the cemetery, he saw a tall, striking, well-dressed woman coming toward him, and he braced himself. Bates was just glad Vera had waited until the funeral was over, instead of forcing herself on him before his mother had even been decently buried. She'd appeared in his mother's last days, no doubt already smelling the inheritance she would have claim to half of, and he'd told her off then in no uncertain terms, telling her to return only when his mother was past all earthly harm. The two women had always brought out the worst in one another, and he wouldn't have his mother's final days marred by a screaming match with a daughter-in-law she had always despised. He wished Anna could have been there in Vera's place, and he knew his mother had felt the same. Although they had both left Anna's name out of their conversations, when his mother had squeezed his hand and asked him to promise to try to be happy, he had known what—and who—she had meant.

He brought himself back to the present, and the woman staring at him with a smirk on her face. "I thought you'd be back, Vera. I had hoped you might have waited an hour after the burial, for decency's sake."

Vera ignored the sarcasm. "You mean Mrs. Bates, don't you?" She smiled, her large white teeth shining. He couldn't help the disgust he felt at hearing her lay claim to a name that in his mind he had already withdrawn from her and prepared to give to Anna, and Vera, sharp-eyed as always, didn't miss it. "So, there's a bit on the side, is there?"

"Keep a civil tongue in your head."

"Oh, come now." She slipped her arm through his, on the cane side where it would be most awkward. "We have so much to talk about. What did Mother Bates leave us?"

"That all depends."

"On what?"

"On whether you're willing to give me a divorce."

"Well, we do jump quickly to the heart of the matter, don't we? No time to mourn the passing of the woman we both loved so much?"

"You've never loved anyone but yourself, Vera."

"And there's the Jack I knew. Give us a kiss, husband of mine."

"That was done with long ago." He shook her arm off. "I've paid for my crimes in our marriage already. What about you?"

"Me? I was more sinned against than sinning, and well you know it. Too bad I never had the foresight to take pictures of the bruises." She sighed dramatically.

Bates's hand clenched tightly on the head of the cane. "There were never any bruises."

Vera laughed. "None that you could prove you didn't give me." Then the smile faded, and the dangerous, calculating look he feared came into her eyes. "We both know there could have been bruises of a very interesting kind. You weren't always gentle, were you?"

He didn't want to think of those times. That had been a different life, and he had let go of the anger he'd felt then, the desire to punish that Vera had taken and given back so readily. "Vera. What will it take?"

"You've turned into a big disappointment, Jack, always harping on this idea. What if I don't want a divorce?"

"I could make it worth your while. How much do you want?"

"Oh, now, that's interesting. How much do you have?"

Bates clenched his teeth. He had known this wasn't going to be easy, if she let it happen at all. "I'm not sure yet. I have to go over the final papers and find out the value of the house."

"You do that. I'll be in touch once you have, and we'll see if we can't come to an agreement." She kissed him on the cheek, her lips lingering, and he could smell brandy on her breath. The scent didn't entice him as it once would have; it sickened him, just as she did. He was glad to see her go.

It was only once she rounded the corner and was gone from his sight that Bates realized the true import of the conversation—she was actually considering granting him a divorce. His heart lifted as he thought of Anna's face when he told her; he couldn't wait to finish settling affairs here and go home to Downton.


	39. Yours, John Bates

_Thanks for reading, one and all! _

* * *

_November 1916_

Anna was just clearing up the mending she'd been doing when Mr. Carson came in with a stack of letters in his hands. One for Miss O'Brien from her sister; one for William from his mother; one for one of the kitchen maids; one for Anna. She took the envelope with some curiosity, as it wasn't her mother's usual day for a letter and of course, there would be no more letters from Mrs. Bates, whose humour and bluntness Anna dearly missed.

At first, she couldn't place the confident, upright hand on the envelope. When she finally remembered where she had seen it before, a blush heated her cheeks, her heart pounding. It hadn't occurred to her that Mr. Bates might write to her while he was gone clearing up his mother's house, but she was so glad he had. She missed him more than she would have thought possible.

O'Brien looked up from her own letter. "He couldn't go a week without talking to you?" she asked sharply.

"Jealous?" Anna asked. She tucked the letter away in her apron pocket. Much as she longed to read it right away, she'd rather wait until she had more privacy. Not that she expected it to be an intimate letter, but she'd prefer not to be reading it under O'Brien's critical eye.

After dinner was over and her ladies were taken care of, she excused herself and went straight up to her room. The newest maid was coming next week, so for now Anna still had the room to herself. In general, she disliked sleeping alone—she'd never done so in her whole life before Gwen left Downton—but she appreciated the privacy tonight. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, she slit open the envelope and withdrew the paper.

_Dear Anna,_

_Once when you were going away you asked me if I would miss you while you were gone. At the time, I still hoped to convince you that you could turn your attention to someone more worthy of you, and I ducked the question. I'll answer it now, if I may. Because I miss you the way I would miss my arm if it were no longer attached to my body. I am constantly turning to talk to you, to tell you what I'm thinking, and to see in your eyes that you know without my having to tell you. I wish I could have taken you up on your generous offer to come with me—I know my mother would have liked to have had you at her funeral yesterday and it would have helped me a great deal to have you my side._

_As it turns out, however, it was as well you didn't come along. I now think it possible that when I return in a few more days, I might have some news I hadn't expected. I won't say more until I'm sure._

_I am counting the days until I am home again at Downton—with you._

_ Yours,_

_ John Bates_

Anna read the letter again, quickly, greedily, then once more, savoring and thinking about every word. News he hadn't expected? He must have seen his wife—Anna felt a pang of jealousy, wondering what the woman looked like, how she dressed, whether he'd been happy to see her. If there was news, though, then maybe he had talked to her about a divorce? Her heart leaped at the very thought, but she pushed it back down. She refused to get her hopes up on such vague hints.

Her thumb rubbed across his name, and she couldn't help smiling at his formality, thinking that he must have smiled, too, when writing it that way. Despite herself, she went to sleep dreaming of being given the right to use his first name.


	40. To Make Her His Wife

_I love the relationship between Lord Grantham and Bates, and I'm sure I wasn't the only one who heard him confess he'd spoken to the Earl before Anna and wished I was a fly on that wall! Thanks for reading. :)_

* * *

_November 1916_

As Bates exited the car, his first sight of Anna made him feel truly alive for the first time in over a week. He had grieved for his mother and had been grateful for the time they'd had together; he had cleared out the rooms of her house as best he could and prepared it for eventual sale; and he had had several tense and uncomfortable meetings with his wife. She hadn't promised a divorce, not exactly, but she had indicated that she was open to being bought, if he could find the right number. Coming from Vera, it was as good as a promise, he told himself.

Any doubts he'd had as to his next course of action disappeared with Anna's smile. He loved her—he could admit that freely now—and there was nothing he wanted in the world more than to make her his wife as soon as he could possibly secure his freedom.

"Why didn't you say you were coming?" Anna's eyes were sparkling.

"I didn't know until today." He couldn't help taking a moment just to look at her; if he'd ever seen a more captivating woman, he didn't know when. He could have stood there all day, just warming himself with her presence, but Lady Mary, who had arrived with him, would be wanting her, and he had things he needed to do. Bates could feel Anna's gaze on him as he went around the house toward the servants' entrance.

He took the first chance he could to find Lord Grantham alone, catching his lordship at work in his office.

"Ah, you're back. The household can run properly again."

"Thank you, my lord. That's very kind."

"Not at all. You've been terribly missed. Poor William can't manage the uniform."

"Well, that's certainly not a problem for me. I'm all too familiar." They shared a look, that of two old war comrades for the moment, rather than that of master and servant. "Your lordship, I wondered if I might have a moment of your time on a rather delicate matter."

"You're not leaving me, are you, Bates?"

"No, my lord. I wouldn't dream of doing so."

"That's a relief. Please, come in and tell me what's on your mind, then." His lordship gestured to a spot near his chair. In the first months, he might have gestured to another chair, instead, but Bates had steadfastly refused any special treatment because of either his leg or their previous relationship.

"You are aware of my … marital situation, my lord?"

"Yes. Do I take it you have seen your wife while you were in London?"

"I have. And she has indicated that she might be willing to grant me a divorce."

"Ah. I'm glad to hear it." It was the closest his lordship had come to alluding to Bates's decision to go to jail for Vera's crimes. Thanks to Anna, it was an open secret in the house. Bates had found he didn't mind having his lordship know the truth, even if he couldn't have borne admitting it himself. "Do you need time off to file papers or something along those lines?"

"No, your lordship. What I wanted to discuss with you is … you may be aware that there is a certain … attachment between myself and Anna." Bates could feel his cheeks heating. It was certainly an uncomfortable conversation to be having with his employer.

A small smile crossed Lord Grantham's face. "Yes."

Bates couldn't help smiling, as well. He still didn't know what Anna saw in a crippled man so many years her senior, but she quite evidently saw something, and it was the joy of his life. "My lord, I … when I can secure the divorce, I want to marry Anna."

His lordship stood up, his smile broadening. "I'm glad to hear it. Anna's quite a girl."

"Yes, that she is."

"Do you have a sense of when that might be?"

"I don't believe we will want to wait long once my divorce is official."

"That's rather hasty, isn't it?"

"I suppose that depends on your point of view, my lord. I've been in lo—I've cared for Anna for several years, and I never thought I would have this chance. I wouldn't want to waste a moment."

"Why, Bates, you're a closet romantic!" Lord Grantham chuckled. "I suppose I should have guessed as much. Will the two of you be wanting to leave Downton together?"

"I don't think so, not at first. Perhaps down the road a little, but I believe we'd prefer to stay on for now."

"In that case, you both have my hearty approval. When you're ready, I think we can find you a cottage near Downton to live in as long as you choose to stay. And I believe it goes without saying that I'd like to be invited to the wedding."

"You are very generous, my lord."

"You and Anna are very important to us here, Bates." Lord Grantham clapped him on the shoulder. "What does Anna say to all this?"

"I haven't told her yet. I was waiting until I had spoken to you."

"Really?" His lordship laughed, his eyes twinkling. "My dear Bates, I wouldn't be in your shoes for all the tea in China."

As Bates left the office, he wondered what Lord Grantham had meant. Anna would be delighted with the plans, he was sure of it.


	41. Similar Positions

_Thank you for reading! You all make my day!_

* * *

_November 1916_

Lady Sybil leaned against Lady Mary's bedpost, watching her sister dress for dinner. "Glad to be back?"

Lady Mary gave no outward reaction to the question, but Anna, her fingers buried in the other woman's hair, could feel her tension suddenly increase. When she spoke, Lady Mary betrayed no emotion. "I'm never sure. When I'm in London, I long for Yorkshire, and when I'm here I ache to hear my heels clicking on the pavement." She changed the subject, dabbing on perfume as she talked. "I'd forgotten about this nightmare concert. Why didn't you warn me? I'd have come back tomorrow."

With a smirk on her face that was all too obvious, Lady Edith said, "But you'd have missed Matthew."

Lady Mary caught her sister's eyes in the mirror. Anna kept her mouth shut and her focus firmly on Lady Mary's hair as Lady Grantham leaned forward with a guilty smile.

"I was going to tell you. Matthew's on leave, and he's in the village. So … Papa and I thought it would be a good time to mend our fences. He's coming tonight with Isobel."

"And his fiance," Lady Edith added. Anna could have strangled her. She supposed she understood the hostility between the two oldest sisters … but Lady Edith's spite never sat well with her.

Lady Mary was not proof against this final blow. Her eyes widened, her breath stilling. "What?"

"Edith," Lady Grantham said, ineffectually exasperated. "I don't know how helpful you're being."

Anna just barely restrained herself from shaking her head. Lady Edith wasn't trying to be helpful in the least, anyone could see that … except, apparently, her mother.

Lady Sybil, clearly trying to ease the tension, made the delayed official announcement. "Matthew's engaged. He's brought her to Downton to meet his mother."

As she put the finishing touches to Lady Mary's hair, Anna couldn't help but think how odd it was that she and Lady Mary were now in such similar positions—both of them loving men who were tied to another woman. She wouldn't have wished it on Lady Mary; she'd been hoping Lady Mary and Mr. Matthew would find their way back to one another.

Lady Mary searched for words, recovering herself at last. "Well, how marvelous." But she got up, reaching for her gloves, so her eyes couldn't be seen in the mirror.

"You don't mind?" Lady Sybil asked.

"Why should I? We're not going to marry, but I don't want him to spend the rest of his life in a cave."

Bent down fixing Lady Mary's hem, Anna couldn't see her expression, but she could tell it was an act, as surely they all could. It was a good act, though, and she admired the other woman for it.

"That's exactly what Papa and I feel," Lady Grantham said earnestly. Perhaps she couldn't tell it was an act … or perhaps she was trying to help Lady Mary carry it off. Anna could never quite read her ladyship. "Please try to be happy for him."

"Of course I'm happy! Good luck to him."

Lady Mary couldn't see her sister's face, but Anna could. Lady Edith looked quite pleased with herself over the hurt she'd given.

"Anyway," Lady Mary continued, "there's someone I want you all to meet. Have you ever come across Richard Carlisle?"

"Sir Richard Carlisle? The one with all those horrid newspapers?" Lady Edith asked, her face souring at the turn of the conversation and the loss of her triumph over her sister.

"We met at Clivedon."

"But how old is he?" Lady Edith's tone was suddenly strident.

"Old enough not to ask stupid questions. Anyway, I can't wait for you to know him. If only Papa hadn't closed down the shoot." Lady Mary's tone was businesslike. There were many parts of Lady Mary's life to envy, but this need to marry, to market herself off to someone with money and status who would secure her future and the future of Downton, was not one of them. Anna was profoundly grateful that it mattered to no one but her, and occasionally her mother, if she ever married. She couldn't imagine feeling what she felt for Mr. Bates and then having to go off and marry someone else instead, the way Lady Mary was having to, despite her feelings for Mr. Matthew.

"Most people have stopped shooting now that the war's on," Lady Grantham said. "But I'm sure Papa will be happy to have Sir Richard come and stay." She sounded upset, and Anna wondered why. The only person more practically minded about Lady Mary's marriage prospects than Lady Mary herself was her mother … and they both knew, as Anna did, the incredible importance of Lady Mary finding a match before any more rumors about that horrible Turkish gentleman got out. His still face hovered at the corner of Anna's mind for a moment before she pushed it firmly aside.

Lady Edith, still sour, said, "Are you? I shouldn't have thought he was Papa's type at all."

Lady Grantham and Lady Sybil headed for the door, pausing to look over their shoulder at Lady Mary. "You coming?"

"I'll be down in a minute," Lady Mary said brightly.

Reluctantly, Lady Edith got up and followed Lady Sybil out of the room, and Lady Grantham hesitated in the doorway for a moment and then followed them. The tension in the room eased palpably once they were gone.

Anna turned to Lady Mary. "Are you all right, milady?"

Lady Mary tried to respond as she would have to the others, but her face crumpled. "Oh, Anna." She put her face in her hands to cover her feelings, but they filled the room now that she had let them out. Anna went to her, putting her hand on Lady Mary's shoulder.

They stood like that for a long moment as Lady Mary pulled herself together. She looked up at Anna. "Is this how you feel? Knowing it's impossible?"

"Sometimes, my lady."

"How do you bear it?"

Anna shook her head. "I don't know."

"You're very strong, Anna."

"I don't know about that, my lady. I just … things are what they are, and you have to face them."

"Yes. You do, don't you?" Lady Mary sat up, looking at herself in the mirror. "There's really no other choice. Thank you, Anna."

* * *

_A/N: I debated whether this belonged here, but I think the scene is really pivotal because it's the first time Mary has been open with Anna about her emotions (other than the scene with Pamuk, which is a little different), and it begins the special relationship and understanding between the two women that becomes so pivotal later. _


	42. Where She Belonged

_Thanks to all of you for reading! Special thanks to AnotherBritFan for all her good ideas and support!_

* * *

_November 1916_

The news bubbled up inside Bates with an excitement he hadn't felt in a long time. He couldn't wait to tell Anna, and looked all day for a time to catch her alone but couldn't find the briefest moment. Finally, he found her in the servants' hall, coming up behind her as she set a box on the table. She turned, startled, and giggled at finding him so close. In truth, Bates rather wanted to giggle as well. Her proximity only increased his eagerness.

Without preamble, he leaned in as close as he dared and whispered, "When can I talk to you?"

"After the concert. Outside in the courtyard. There's bound to be a gap before they start dinner." She was practically beaming herself; she must have guessed from the hints in his letter, or from his demeanour.

It was hard to go about his work without pausing frequently to smile over it all. He'd never dared to dream he might be free to marry Anna, and being even this close was the greatest happiness he'd known since … since before Africa.

* * *

He had a hard time sitting next to her throughout the concert, chatting with her in the gaps between performances, without reaching to touch her or leaning over to whisper into her ear the words he now felt he had a right to say.

But somewhere along the middle of the concert, as she glanced at him with questions in her eyes, clearly as excited to hear what he had to say as he was to say it, Bates began to wonder if he was doing the right thing. Vera hadn't promised him anything; maybe it was too soon to be getting Anna's hopes up. And was it right to speak at all? He was much older than she was, lame in one leg, still married. The best he could do was to get a divorce, which would still mean she couldn't be married in the church. Perhaps he wasn't right to be asking her to chain her life to his.

The effervescence he had felt all day slowly ebbed until he could feel his doubts like a layer of frost on his skin. Even the warmth of Anna sitting next to him couldn't alleviate the sudden chill.

At the same time, he couldn't avoid the subject now. He had spoken to Lord Grantham already; he had hinted to Anna; and God help him, but he loved her too much to miss this chance, even if it would be in her best interests to do so.

* * *

As soon as possible after the end of the concert, they hurried outside. It was cool out, but that was nothing to the alternating heat and cold that permeated Bates's body.

Anna turned to him the moment the door had closed, leaving them alone. "What is it? What happened while you were in London? I know there's something—you look like the cat who swallowed the canary."

It was now or never. At least he could tell her what progress had been made, see what her reaction was. Something deep down inside him didn't trust that a woman like Anna would truly want to marry him when it came down to it; perhaps she would make the choice for him. "Vera—my wife—was there." He had never uttered the words "my wife" in Anna's presence before. They sounded very wrong to his ears.

"And?"

"And I think my situation may have changed somewhat."

"What? How? When did you see her?"

"She just turned up at my mother's house, not long before she died."

"So … what does it mean?" Anna appeared to be holding her breath.

He let his out, slowly. "I think it means, at long last … I'm able to get a divorce."

Any concerns he'd had about Anna's feelings were lost in the sudden starry-eyed, albeit somewhat hesitant joy on her face. "Mr. Bates," she said shakily, "is this a proposal?"

Lord, she was quick. She knew what she wanted; he loved that about her. "If that's what you want to call it," he whispered, giving her one last chance to avoid tying herself down to such a damaged man. But she kept looking at him with those bright, happy eyes, and he relented, smiling. "And you might start calling me John." Not that he didn't love the way she said "Mr. Bates" … but he thought he could quite like hearing her use his given name, as well. Any moment he expected to wake up and find this all just a beautiful dream.

Anna's chin was quivering as she fought the swell of her emotions, but her innate practicality couldn't let things rest just so. "Why are you sure she'll do it now, when she's refused for so long?"

"Mother left me some money. Much more than I thought. Vera's a greedy woman; she won't refuse what I can offer her."

"Will we have to leave Downton?"

He hastened to reassure her. "No, not till we want to. I've spoken to his lordship and he will find a cottage for us near the house."

The approving smile he had expected failed to appear on Anna's face. "You told him you want to marry me?"

"I did."

"Before you spoke to me."

"You don't mind, do you?"

"Of course I mind!" But she couldn't hold her happiness in any longer, the smile he wanted so badly to see spreading across her face. "In fact, I'd give you a smack if I didn't want to kiss you so bad I could burst!"

He slid his hand across her cheek, his fingers curving around the back of her neck. It was impossible to take his eyes off her; she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Slowly, he drew her toward him until their lips met, hers soft and warm. She tasted like fresh rain, and he reveled in finally having the freedom to kiss her properly.

As slowly as they had come together, they broke apart, but the moment lingered between them, until by mutual need they embraced, Bates folding Anna in his arms the way he had wanted to do almost from the beginning. He never wanted her to be anywhere else; this was where she belonged.


	43. Clouds of Happiness

_I loved Bates's body language in this scene - I only hope I did it justice. Thanks for reading!_

* * *

_November 1916_

Anna had barely managed to do her work the rest of the night after the concert, and this morning she had been reprimanded by Lady Edith for letting her mind wander while she was supposed to be dressing her hair. But Anna couldn't help it; she'd never dreamed this day would come, and her head was full of Mr. Bates. She couldn't yet think of him as John. Not quite yet.

Every glimpse she had of him bore an all-new kind of excitement, butterflies filling her belly at the memory of his kiss and the anticipation of more yet to come. She felt as though she were walking around in a dream.

Late that night, when most of the others had gone to bed, Anna brought her cup of tea into the servants' hall, but it sat unregarded at her elbow as she stared into space, remembering last night and looking through clouds of happiness into the future.

"You look a thousand miles away."

His voice made her jump; she'd been so lost in her fantasies that she hadn't even heard his cane as he approached. "No farther than right next to you," Anna said, blushing a little. It was all new, being able to speak so openly, even to him. He'd never wanted to speak out, or to have her do so. No doubt because he thought he would never have the freedom to truly offer for her. But now all that was changed, and Anna could feel joy spreading all through her, even to the tips of her fingers.

Mr. Bates was smiling as he took the seat next to her. Anna turned to face him, and he leaned toward her, reaching for her hands. The touch felt so natural, so right. Anna's thumbs rubbed over the backs of his hands. "What were you thinking of?" he asked, low and intimate.

"Our future."

His hands tightened on hers. "And what plans were you making?"

"How do you know I was making plans?"

"Because you were. Weren't you?" Mr. Bates's eyes were tender as he looked up into hers.

"All right, I was thinking about … a few things."

"Such as?"

But Anna felt shy, suddenly. "I don't want to be presumptuous."

"You couldn't possibly be. Shall I tell you some of the things I was thinking?"

"Yes, please."

"Well, I thought we could sell my mother's house and start a little nest egg."

"Would you mind doing that?"

"Selling?" He looked surprised at the question.

"Yes. After all, it was your mother's."

Mr. Bates frowned a little, thoughtfully. "I don't know. I hadn't thought of it in quite that way."

Anna shook her head. "I don't think we should sell your mother's house. Not yet."

"We could rent it out, then we could save. When I have some time off, I'll go up to London and get it ready."

"Maybe I can come with you; we could do it together."

They looked at each other for a moment, remembering her similar offer before he'd gone to London to care for his mother. Such a short time ago, but such a difference.

"I've got an idea," he said, "that a bit later on, if we want to …" His voice trailed off, and Anna was overwhelmed at the very thought of what he was suggesting. Even she hadn't allowed herself to dream so big, not yet.

"If we want to start a family," she finished for him, feeling her cheeks heat at the idea of children—and what came before them.

An answering smile, private and knowing, curved his lips before he continued, "I thought, when the time is right, we might sell, and we could buy a small hotel, just a—just a little one. Maybe near here."

Anna's eyes filled with tears. It wasn't even just that the future he was describing was actually possible—it was equally as much that he had thought of it, that he'd obviously been dreaming about a life with her just as she had dreamt about a life with him. She could barely sit still for the joy that coursed through her limbs.

He went on, "Then we could work together, and have the children with us." Anna sniffed, trying not to let the tears fall, but he noticed anyway. "What is it?"

"Nothing. It's just … in my whole life, I never thought that I could be as happy as I am at this moment."

Whatever his response might have been was lost when Ethel came clacking sharply in, scraping her chair loudly across the floor and dropping her book heavily on the table for emphasis. The moment was broken … but nothing could take it away.


	44. The Right Person

_This was a fun one to do. Thanks for reading!_

* * *

_November 1916_

If being around Mr. Bates had been distracting before, when everything she felt had to be hidden away and kept inside herself, it was doubly—triply—so now that everyone knew they were an engaged couple. Mr. Carson had cleared his throat and hemmed and hawed; Mrs. Hughes had looked at Anna with a smile that didn't quite hide the concerns she felt. Mrs. Patmore had been fierce in her happiness for them, William wistful. O'Brien had said some contemptuous things, and Ethel had eyed Mr. Bates up and down, clearly wondering what Anna saw in him. Daisy had offered to make something special in celebration, an offer Mrs. Patmore had immediately squashed.

And in the midst of it all, there had been his smile, which had always been specially for her, but now had even more meaning than it had had before. Anna couldn't help thinking about the kiss they had shared. Was it proper to ask for more kisses now that they were truly an engaged couple? There had been a warmth inside her as they kissed that she wanted very much to feel again.

His leg shifted next to hers under the table and Anna felt an echo of that warmth at the contact. Suddenly she was aware of his body all the time in a way she had only experienced once or twice before. She ducked her head, blushing at her own thoughts, glad the meal was almost over so she could flee outside and cool off a bit. She would have to stop thinking these things or she'd never be able to go about her work properly, or sit next to him at mealtimes under Mrs. Hughes' watchful eye.

She scurried outside as soon as the meal was over. It was really too cold to be out here, but the chilly air felt good on her burning cheeks.

The tap of his cane preceded him. "Anna?"

"Oh, hello," she said, looking up at him. She no longer felt comfortable calling him Mr. Bates, but she wasn't yet sure enough of everything to call him John, either. It seemed terribly presumptuous.

"What are you doing out here all alone?"

So much for the cool air. She felt heat sweeping up her face and knew she must be blushing furiously. Could she really admit to him what she was doing out here? As he sat down next to her, she thought surely nice girls didn't talk about these feelings. Then again, she was his fiancee now, and they weren't supposed to be keeping secrets from one another … not anymore, at least. If she couldn't tell him, who could she tell? Besides which, she was sure he would like to hear how she felt. "I was … overheated indoors."

"Are you coming down with something?"

Biting her lip, she shook her head. "No, nothing like that. I was just … I was thinking about …" She looked away from him. "I was thinking about you," she said in a hurried whisper.

There was a silence, then, "Oh. I see." There was a warmth in his voice now, and she turned around to see him smiling at her.

"Are you laughing at me?"

"Far from it. Anna …" His gloved hand touched her chin, lifting her face toward him. "You make me feel that way, too."

"I do?" It was hard to fathom. Surrounded by beautifully dressed ladies all day, Anna had a hard time seeing herself as particularly attractive. Not that there was anything wrong with her, especially, but a maid's uniform was hardly the most flattering type of clothing a person could wear.

"Oh, yes."

"Mr. Bates?" The formal title slipped out by habit, but she ignored it, as did he. His fingers were still under her chin, and she thought even through his gloves he must be able to feel her pulse pounding. "Would you think me terribly forward if I—if I asked you to kiss me?"

"It would be my very great pleasure." His face moved closer to hers and Anna's eyes closed of their own volition as she waited. The first touch of his lips was soft and gentle, as their previous kisses had been. Then the pressure became firmer until Anna gasped. She felt the brush of something warm and wet against her lips, realizing with surprise that it was his tongue. When she boldly reached to touch it with her own, the warmth inside her turned to heat, and she heard a small sound she'd never known herself to make before. He caught his breath in response, his hand leaving her chin to cup the back of her neck, bringing her even closer as his tongue moved farther into her mouth, exploring.

It was too much, the darkness and the heat and the sharp, sweet feeling in the pit of her stomach. Anna pulled back, finding his eyes on her with an intensity that did nothing to calm her. "Oh, my."

Mr. Bates chuckled. He took his hand off her neck and shifted a bit away from her. Anna was glad of the distance, as it gave her a chance to cool down and let her heart stop racing.

"Anna?" he asked presently. "Do you mind my asking a … personal question?"

"No. I have nothing to hide from you." She put her small, cold hand into his large, gloved one.

"There's never been anyone who ... touched your heart?"

She shook her head. "Not for lack of trying. There were a couple of footmen in my first job, but they weren't honourable men, and I wanted to wait until I found the right person."

His hand closed firmly over hers. "I won't ask what makes you think I'm the right person. When a miracle lands in your lap, you don't question it. Not if you're sensible."

"I'm not a miracle."

"Yes. You are." He let go of her hand and put his arm around her, pulling her close to him.

This was a different kind of warmth—less exciting, maybe, but certainly just as nice. Anna leaned her head against his shoulder, feeling as though she'd found her right place at last.


	45. An Indelicate Question

_To think, here I am just starting on the plot points of Series 2, while you lucky folks in England get to start watching Series 4! Wonder how far along I'll be when they finally let us watch it here in the US this January. Happy reading!_

* * *

_November 1916_

The smile on her face wouldn't go away, no matter how hard she tried to school her features into the impassive mask of a servant. Lady Mary, seated before the glass while Anna brushed her hair, caught her gaze in the mirror.

"Anna, you look very happy today."

"I am, my lady."

"I have heard that you are engaged to marry Bates. Is that true?" There was a little wrinkle in Lady Mary's forehead, as if she found it hard to believe.

Anna could see her own blush in the mirror, and she dropped a hairpin. "Yes, my lady." She got down on her hands and knees to search for it.

"And … I'm sorry, this is an indelicate question."

"What is?" Ah, there it was. She picked up the hairpin and got to her feet.

"Are you marrying him because he represents a chance to leave service and move on with your life, or because you really care about him?"

It was a startlingly personal question, but after all, hadn't they shared some personal things? Anna remembered the cold body and staring eyes of the dead Turk and shivered.

"Anna?"

"Sorry, my lady. The answer is that I care about him very much. I have for a long time."

"He's married, isn't he?"

"Yes, but unhappily so. He's hoping to get a divorce." She went back to the hairstyle.

"Does that bother you, that he'll be divorced?"

Anna chuckled. "I prefer him divorced to married to another woman."

Lady Mary smiled, too. "Yes, I suppose you would. Can I ask you another?"

"If you like."

"How did you know?"

"How did I know what?"

"That you were sure. That you wanted to marry him." Lady Mary's eyes were wide and pain-filled, and Anna thought with sympathy about the row over her almost-engagement to Mr. Matthew. "You see, I have such trouble knowing, for sure. I can't imagine how anyone can tie themselves down for a lifetime that way. What if in ten years everything's changed and you want something else?"

Anna took a deep breath. "Oh, my lady, what a set of questions."

"Yes, it is. But … I need to know, if you can answer any of them."

"Well, then. I suppose I knew when the first thing I thought about every morning was how much I looked forward to seeing him, and the last thing I thought about every night was everything he had said to me all day. Or when he'd go to London with his lordship and the servants' hall would seem so empty without him it practically echoed. Or when I got used to looking up and knowing he knew just what I was thinking." Anna shrugged. "We belong together, and that's all there is to it."

"Did—does he feel the same?"

"He didn't, for a long while. Or, rather, he did, but he thought it was better for me to find someone else."

"Because he'd been in jail."

"Yes, that, and because he was married. He's not very proud of that time in his life, and I think it took him some time to let go of it."

Lady Mary nodded, wincing when the motion caused Anna to pull her hair a little. "You belong together. But what if you stop belonging together?"

"Where would we be, if we dithered around wondering what might happen someday? Today is enough for me, and tomorrow, and those I want to spend with him."

"You're very practical, Anna."

"Why shouldn't I be, my lady? I deal with practical things every day."

"Yes, that's a good point." Lady Mary sighed, looking at herself in the mirror. "Of course, it makes very little difference now."

Anna said nothing, knowing her ladyship was thinking of Mr. Matthew, somewhere in France. As she gave the final touches to Lady Mary's hair, she said a little prayer that God would send Mr. Matthew back to them safe and sound, and that Lady Mary would learn to listen to her own heart in the meantime … and, just perhaps, that his engagement could be broken without further pain to anyone.


End file.
